Author's Note: Did you know there are only THREE Elle/Emily stories on the entire ? Anyway, I'm dedicating this the who was the one who wanted more of these two together on the Fanfic Challenge, and I was the one who got that pairing. Hope you like it! Oh, and the title will be explained later. There is a point to it besides my rampart strangeness(wanders off humming under breath like a lunatic).

Facedump

Agent Emily Prentiss never seemed to get good dates. Invariably, something was wrong with the men, or she said something absolutely geeky to drive them off. Or she was trying to say something geeky to drive them off because they were boring her to death.

This date was the option behind door number three. They were in a bar, and she was listening to a long, involved monologue about this guy's family. Specifically his father. She had tried to interject her most geeky comments-like knowing every episode of the original Star Trek and a fascination with Chekov (To throw him off. Didn't help). Now she was looking for an escape route-another guy, a girl, a long-lost friend, a call from the office. The last was the least likely, as she rode a desk in Counter-Terrorism translating Arabic ezines looking for evidence of terrorist groups.

Her eyes unfocussed and wandered the bar up and down. Something, anything to get her out of this date with this word-spewing being.

There was a woman at the bar itself, in jeans and a slinky top. She had crinkled brown hair, was lean, and was swinging back tequila with enviable ease. And her nails were sculpted red.

Even a reject from someone like her would be enough to get Emily out of her current situation.

"Tom," she interrupted. "I think I just saw a friend of mine. Give me a sec, will you?"

She didn't wait for a reply, but went over to the woman. She was greeted with a sly grin and soft voice. "Bad date?"

"Is it that obvious?"

The woman's grin grew wide, and her voice matched it so that her date could hear. "I haven't seen you in forever! Sit down, girl. How have you been?"

"I've been really good," she agreed, plopping down gratefully. "How about you?"

Out the corner of her eye, her date got up in disgust and left in a huff. She couldn't help but giggle.

"Thank you. I'm Emily Prentiss."

The woman shook her hand. "Elle Greenaway. What's your poison?"

"This early, White Russians."

Elle signaled the bartender. "That must have been bad, to approach a complete stranger. White Russian for my friend, please."

"I seem to attract bad dates."

"I know what you mean. Especially if you have a career."

"My God, yes. The higher on the ladder, the more men seem to think you need a good lay, and since they are God's gift to women, well!"

"Exactly," Elle took another sip of tequila and stirred the lime with her finger.

Emily's drink appeared. "What do you do, Elle?"

"I'm FBI."

"Me, too. Counter-Terrorism."

"Behavioral Analysis. Sort of."

"Explain that one."

"I'm on medical leave. I got shot."

"Ouch." and now she was saying dumb things.

Elle shrugged. "I'm basically fine. The doctors are just being overcautious and racking up their fees. Insurance always pays up, you know?'

"I know! I got beat up on an undercover in Texas, with a guy agent. They had him back on duty in a month but didn't let me back for two. He was the one with broken bones, but no, little agent Prentiss wasn't even allowed to ride a desk."

"Did you complain?"

"Why do you think I'm translating Arabic at a desk in Quantico instead of being out in the field?"

"Men," Elle agreed.

"It didn't help that my superior on that case had wandering lizard hands, either."

"Ew."

"Exactly."

"Listen, how about we get out of here before we're totally soused, catch a flick, whatever?"

Emily wasn't sure if that was a date, a friendly invitation, or both.

"Why not?" Sure beat getting drunk, though.