Disclaimer: I've read and written so many disclaimers, I actually had a dream where I forgot to write one, and Criminal Minds actually tried to sue me. Despite MGG being there, it wasn't cool. And I don't own.

The Rhythm Paradigm

He opens the bedroom door, but doesn't move as he listens to her attempt to sing along to the fast-paced song. Once the singing gives way to rapping, he slowly walks into the kitchen, careful to not catch her attention.

She's dancing, artfully managing to move her lower body while she combines the ingredients for pancakes at the same time. He's careful not to laugh as she uses the whisk to beat an imaginary drum, effectively slinging batter on the counter.

The rapping continues, I will not dance even if the beat's funky, before the gravelly tones of the singer resumes the chorus.

She turns when she sees him standing in the doorway, and immediately quits singing. However, she doesn't stop dancing.

"Emily, I think the song just said 'I will not dance even if the beat's funky.' "

"I know." She grins broadly, keeping her pace to the steady rhythm.

"Then why are you dancing?"

"I prefer to be a contradiction..." She continues to move her hips as the beat increases in tempo, "…that and I love this song."

He carefully maneuvers around her, squeezing through the space between the counter and her body in order to make his way to the fridge.

He grabs the orange juice and turns to see her standing next to him, smiling mischievously. "Dance with me."

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what'? I said dance with me." She resumes dancing, moving her hips from side to side, constantly closing the distance between their bodies.

"Emily, when have you ever seen me dance?" He sets the juice carton down as she rests her hands on his waist, attempting to make him imitate her movements.

He places his hands gently on her shoulders, pushing her away. She frowns and walks over to the iPod dock, quickly changing the song. The low growl of a saxophone begins to fill the air.

She walks back towards him, one eyebrow rising defiantly. "I know you know how to dance."

He raises his glass of juice to his lips, saying, "No, I don't," just before taking a sip.

A trumpet joins the sax, as she takes his wrist and places his hand on her waist, whispering, "Music is math. You told me so yourself."

"It is math. The rhythms, time signatures, even the scales are…"

"I know. I remember you telling me." Following her lead, he moves his other hand to her waist.

She stands on her tiptoes and whispers into his ear, "You're good at math." He furrows his brow questioningly, not liking where the conversation's going.

She lets her hands lie on his shoulders as the trumpet begins to crescendo. "If you're good at math, you should be good at dancing."

The corner of his mouth moves into a crooked smile before he responds. "There is no truth to that statement, and you know it." His hands slowly slide down to her hips, as her body begins to sway to the saxophone's melody.

"Fine, but if music is math, then you are capable of learning." It's her turn to smile when she takes a step forward and he follows her movement.

Slowly pulling her body against his, he asks, "What if I don't want to learn?" She interlocks her fingers behind his neck, "Since when do you not want to learn something?"

The music continues to climb, the soft tenor blending with the highs of the trumpet. They continue to move around the small kitchen, laughing when one steps on the other's foot. In time, they find a rhythm; a way of moving that invites closeness.

The trumpet sings it's last note, and it echoes through the room. They continue to move in the silence that follows. She pulls down on his neck as she reaches up to kiss him.

Both laugh as the sound of Madonna singing "Like a Virgin" fills the empty silence. "I forgot it was on shuffle," she admits shyly, as she steps away to change the song.

He looks at her, and grins as he throws his hands up in mock-surrender, "No amount of math is going to teach me to dance to that," before he pulls her back to him and resumes their kiss, both ignoring the song and pancakes.

A/N: The first song she's dancing to is When They Come for me by Linkin Park. The second song is a made up jazz song.

I'm not sure if this is what you meant lolyncut, but I hope this makes up for the huge amount of angst in my other fic, "Countdown".

Yay, you read it to the end. Want to review now?