A/N: Continuing this story for TigerLily's birthday…two years ago! It's the story that keeps on giving. Hope you enjoy my fellow Tiger!

Emily started sniffling after five minutes in the car. She felt her throat become itchy and tighten slightly. It wasn't a full on attack, but something was irritating her sinuses. She looked suspiciously around the interior of Hotch's car. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emily's head moving back and forth, hunting for something.

"Did you drop something, Emily?" he asked in a puzzled voice.

She sniffed loudly. "Lilies," she said in a sharp voice. She started to roll the passenger side window down and cold air rushed in immediately. There was a hint of dampness to it, but neither noticed it. "They're lingering, the scent, in your car. It's enough to trigger my allergies." She resisted the urge to start scratching her neck. "It'll be okay if I keep the window down." She shivered slightly, the cold air going sharply through her thin shawl.

"Here, I'll turn on the heat," Hotch offered, reaching forward for the temperature controls. Soon warm air was blowing, warming the car enough so Emily stopped shivering. She gave him a small smile but then sneezed loudly.

"Sorry," she murmured as she dug for a tissue in her purse.

"It's okay. I'm really sorry about the flowers, but I didn't know you were allergic to lilies." He frowned. "I really should have. I feel stupid for not knowing that about you."

"Well, it's not like I advertise it," she smiled at him. "And really, conversations about flowers don't typically come up in our line of work. Besides, isn't that the reason we're trying this dating thing? To get to know each other a little better?"

He glanced over at her, his face still frowning, but she kept smiling at him and he felt his features relax and he started to smile back at her. "Thanks."

They started to talk about other things. Emily happened to be reading a book Hotch had finished a few weeks earlier. That led to a discussion of their favorite writers. The trip to the restaurant passed by quickly and when Hotch pulled into a parking space in the practically deserted lot, Emily was peering eagerly out of the window.

She suddenly grew quiet. Hotch shot her an inquiring look, but turned off the ignition and got out of the car. He opened the passenger side door and helped her out.

"Oh, Mange," Emily said in an unenthused voice.

"You don't like it?" Hotch asked quickly, suddenly nervous that he had allowed Rossi to talk him into taking Emily here.

"No! No, it's fine," she assured him, though Hotch suspected she wasn't particularly enthused.

Emily wasn't particularly excited about his restaurant choice, but she wasn't going to let Hotch know. It seemed a little clichéd to be taken to an expensive, trendy French restaurant on their date. Plus she had been here the week it opened, on another date with a pretentious Deputy Assistant Director at some other federal agency eager to impress the daughter of Ambassador Prentiss. She knew she had told Hotch she wasn't crazy about these types of restaurants so she didn't understand why he would select Mange for their first date.

However, years of training as a diplomat's daughter kicked in and she put on a bright smile. She took his arm and started to walk towards the door of the restaurant. "I understand the food is very good," she told him, unwittingly using that polite tone of voice she adopted when dealing with a tiresome VIP at an embassy event.

Emily had fallen back onto her "party manners" and didn't even realize it. Hotch did. That spark in her eye that he loved vanished. She became the polite, diplomat's daughter who put on a good front, but not good enough to fool him. Hotch smothered a sigh, realizing like the flowers, this was a bad decision. He was still mentally kicking himself for following his Rossi's advice when they reached the maître d's desk.

"Oui?"

The even more clichéd maître d' at the reservation desk managed to infuse enough haughty disdain in that one word he made the Dowager Countess on Downton Abbey sound like Mrs. Potts from Beauty and the Beast. He was a thin man with even thinner black hair, the wisps of it combed back to cover a balding spot. He gazed down his long, sharp nose, given the impression he was extremely tall though he was shorter than Hotch and barely taller than Emily.

"Reservation for Hotchner," Hotch replied.

"We 'ave no reservation for a 'otchner," the man sneered back. He looked the couple up and down and definitely found them lacking.

"We have reservations," Hotch repeated firmly, though he began to feel sweat bead under his arms. Everything was going wrong with this date. "You didn't even bother to look."

"I do not need to look, monsieur," the man continued. "We only 'ave one reservation tonight."

Hotch realized then that Rossi must have arranged for them to have the restaurant to themselves. A grand gesture, typical of Dave Rossi, but it would also require the use of his name. Hotch leaned closer to the maître d' in a futile attempt to avoid Emily hearing him. "It's probably under the name of 'Rossi'," he muttered in a low tone.

Emily heard him and shot Hotch a surprised look that he ignored though his slowly reddening ears gave him away.

The snooty man eyed him suspiciously but nodded his head with one sharp motion. "Oui. It is for Monsieur Rossi." He looked them over again. "We thought it would be him here tonight. We did not know he was providing a favor to someone else." His voice sounded aggrieved, as though Rossi had betrayed them.

Hotch flushed even more brightly, all the while ignoring the inscrutable look Emily was giving him. "Our table?" he asked in a short tone.

The maître d' sniffed again and picked up two oversized menus encased in brown leather. He showed them into the dining room that was illuminated by soft, flattering lights, some of which were from candles and others that gave off a soft flame-like glow. Hotch and Emily were seated at the table that was exactly at the center of the room underneath an exquisite crystal chandelier, its gentle lights reflected by the thousands of facets of the polished crystals. Delicate chairs covered in a subtle pale gold fabric were comfortably padded and matched the tastefully striped wallpaper. Deep golden tablecloths were laid over snow white ones. Heavy tapestry drapes covered the windows and were held back by gold cords that ended in lush tassels that hung close to the floor. The heavy silverware had handles rimmed in a dull golden color and were set by delicate porcelain gilded plates that had a delicate scroll design on the rim.

Some would think it was the epitome of opulent elegance, but it felt pretentious and fake. It resembled a Hollywood set director's idea of an eighteenth century French courtesan's boudoir. The emptiness of the room added to the artificialness of the entire place. Hotch saw Emily taken in the scene in one glance. She sat down silently in the chair the maître d' pulled out for her as Hotch too his own seat. He was sorely regretting agreeing to Dave's plans.

The maître d' handed them their menus and told them their server would be with them shortly. He left them to return to the front.

Emily looked over at Hotch who hastily opened his menu and tried to avoid her eye.

"Aaron," she said quietly. "Rossi?"

Hotch sighed and put down his menu. "He helped get the reservations."

"And arranged to close down the place too," Emily replied as she looked around the room.

"That I didn't know about."

"It's a little creepy."

Hotch agreed. With all they see in their jobs, empty places usually didn't mean good things. But, at least they had some privacy and the restaurant supposedly had great food. Hotch couldn't imagine Dave Rossi recommending any place that didn't have a four star rating. He was sure that after the poor start of their date, everything else would go smoothly.

Hotch was being far too optimistic.

"Bon soir, Monsieur et Madame-"

The throaty, slightly-accented feminine voice trailed off as she came next to the table and got a clear look at her customers. The smile on her face slowly faded and she gazed forlornly at the couple. "David Rossi isn't here?" she asked in a small, disappointed voice.

Emily and Hotch exchanged glances.

"Err, no," Hotch replied. "He's a friend of ours and got the reservation for us." He looked at Emily out of the corner of his eyes and saw her watching the waitress curiously.

The waitress sighed, suddenly deflated, her shoulders slumped. In her grey waitress uniform that was trimmed in black, dark hair pulled back into a braid and with the forlorn look on her face, Hotch thought she looked a little like Eeyore. "Welcome to Mange. Our specials tonight are roasted bone marrow served with crisp organic greens. For entrees, we have a Chilean Sea Bass poached in olive oil and served with lemon dressed asparagus. The other entrée special is a coq au vin with notes of chocolate and red wine, a hearty peasant stew made elegant by Mange. Would you like to start with drinks?"

All this was said in a robotic, emotionless voice and a blank stare. Emily and Hotch exchanged glances again, uneasy by the woman's obvious disappointment that Rossi was not at the table with them.

"Er, we'd like to look at your wine list," Hotch replied.

"I'll send the sommelier to your table," she answered tonelessly before turning around and leaving them.

"We were obviously not what she was expecting," Emily murmured as she examined her menu.

Hotch merely grunted as he watched the waitress move towards the kitchen. A frown creased his face, upset that everything seemed to be going wrong on this date.

"Hopefully she won't spit in our food," Emily joked, trying to lighten the mood. Hotch turned his frown at her and she hastily looked down at the menu. "The coq au vin sounds good."

Hotch shook himself out of his funk. It was definitely not Emily's fault everything seemed to be going wrong so why take it out on her? He smiled at the woman across from him. If she was trying to make the best of things, the least he could do was the same. Afterall, why should he feel glum and downtrodden? Emily was still looking at him with her lovely smile and her bright eyes, not chastising him for the many mistakes that he had made that night. How could he be upset with her looking at him like that?

Things started to look brighter when the sommelier arrived. The man's friendly professionalism and his knowledge of Mange's extensive wine cellar produced an excellent wine that made Emily's brown eyes glitter in appreciation and pulled a genuine smile and silent sigh of relief from Hotch. The waitress was still morose, but she took their orders efficiently and quickly had their salads out.

Conversations turned back to books and Hotch began to feel himself relax as he waited for Emily to finish eating her salad. He was about to ask her if she had read one of the earlier works of the author they had been discussing when a loud commotion at the entrance caused both of them to look over. A short, balding man in a brown suit sent a glare to the near-empty room. At that moment, the waitress came out to take away Hotch and Emily's salad plates. She saw the man and froze next to their table.

"Marcel!"

"Fiona!"

The angry little man strode forward and stood before the woman who, in her heels, was a good five inches taller than he was.

He quivered with anger. He stared at Fiona for another three seconds before he turned slowly to glare at Hotch.

"Is this him?" he snarled out.

Hotch blinked at the man and Emily arched an inquiring eyebrow at her date.

"Marcel! What are you doing here?"

"Francois told me that he would be here tonight!" Marcel barked.

"Francois! That meddling old woman!" Fiona spat out. "This is not him."

"This is not David Rossi?"

"Please!" Fiona snorted. "Does this simple organism look like a man like David Rossi? He is but an amoeba. David Rossi is a god amongst men. A slab of masculinity that will set any woman's loins on fire." She sighed in feminine appreciation while Marcel looked furious.

Emily was looking ill.

"I really did not hear about Rossi setting women's loins on fire," she murmured to Hotch.

"At least you weren't compared to a single cell organism," Hotch replied dryly. "Excuse me? But can we get our entrees?"

Marcel and Fiona ignored him. "You tramp!" he cried out in a shrill voice. "You are still seeing him! Cheating on me!"

"Cheating? We broke up weeks ago!" She poked Marcel in his chest with her finger. "Why would I want to be with you when I can have a hunk of hot, manly flesh that can pleasure me in so many ways, all night long. He is a stallion in bed in stamina and size."

"Oh god, I think I threw up a little in my mouth," Emily whimpered as she clamped her hands over her ears.

Hotch was looking a little queasy as well. "Maybe just the check, please."

"You're just interested in his money," Marcel snarled. "Do you think he would marry a simple waitress? David Rossi would want a woman like-, like-," He looked around and his eyes fell on Emily. "Like her!"

Fiona looked at Emily and her eyes narrowed at the brunette. "He did make a reservation for you," she said suspiciously.

"And him," Emily cried out, pointing at Hotch, not liking the angry look in the woman's eye.

Fiona ignored her comments and gazed at Emily coolly. "How do you know David?"

Marcel looked on with an evil smile as Emily began to inch her chair backwards. She glanced over at Hotch who was starting to rise out of his chair, anger finally overriding the horror over hearing about David Rossi's sex life.

"That does it! We are out of here! I cannot believe the unprofessional-"

Hotch never finished as Fiona suddenly lunged at Emily, knocking the brunette over backwards in her chair. At that moment, the sommelier was passing by with a freshly uncorked bottle of wine he wanted the couple to try. A bottle of red wine. Emily and Fiona crashed onto the floor while the bottle of wine was knocked out of the sommelier's hands, the contents spilling over the two women who began to wrestle on the floor, drenching them.

Hotch stared in horror as Marcel watched with great interest. Finally the FBI agent snapped out of his paralysis and rushed forward to help Emily. Emily had delivered a sharp blow to Fiona's solar plexus, knocking the wind out of the waitress and stunning her. Prentiss scrambled to her feet, backing away from the clearly troubled woman. Hotch was beside her in a moment, steadying her and glaring at the Fiona and Marcel. The maître d' came rushing into the dining room.

"What is going on?" he demanded, taking in the scene.

Hotch whirled on the man and with a look that had made hardened serial killers weep like a five year old, he informed the man in his cold, razor sharp voice that the waitress had attacked his date and that he was considering pressing charges against her for assaulting a federal officer.

"I will make sure that you not only reimburse Agent Prentiss for her ruined dress," Hotch winced internally for the red wine drenched pink dress was beyond saving, "But I will make certain that everyone is made aware of the outrageous treatment we suffered this evening." He took Emily's arm and gently pulled her along as he stalked out of the restaurant leaving a sputtering maître d' in his wake.

The wind had picked up and drops of rain started to hit them as they made their way to Hotch's car. Emily shivered in the cold and hastily got into the automobile as soon as Hotch had unlocked the doors, not even waiting for him to open the door for her. Hotch started the car and gave Emily a concerned look. "Did she hurt you?"

"Only my pride," Emily muttered. She glanced down sadly at her ruined dress. "And my new dress," she sighed.

"I'm so sorry," he said in a soft, contrite voice. The dress was ruined, wine was in her hair and she smelled like she had been on a bender. Hotch let out a small sigh as he pulled out of the restaurant parking lot. "I'm assuming you don't want to go to the movies?"

"We were going to go to the movies?"

Hotch nodded. "Reid got us tickets to 'Solaris'. It's playing at the Russian film festival in Georgetown."

Emily gave him a look and then turned her eyes down to her ruined dress. Hotch grimaced and nodded. "Right, back to your place."

They rode in silence for a few moments as the rain that started when they left the restaurant grew progressively worse until it was a full blown storm. Hotch had to slow the car considerably as the rain beat down on the car. The windshield wipers moved furiously but visibility was nearly zero, forcing him to concentrate on his driving. Emily remained quiet next to him and both of them tried not to comment on the over-whelming odor of wine in the small, enclosed space.

Hotch was still two blocks away from Emily's brownstone when the car suddenly died. The engine made a strangled noise, the dashboard lit up for one second and then went totally black. The power gone, rain and wind buffeting the car, Hotch struggled to pull the car next to the curb. He attempted starting the car, but it simply made a choking noise and then nothing. He tried a few more times, but to no avail. Hotch closed his eyes and silently swore before he slowly met Emily's gaze.

"Well, that's the perfect end to this date," she murmured tiredly. She looked out the window at the rain still beating down. "Right, well, we're only about two blocks from my place. I'll just have to walk it."

"Emily, it's pouring out there. Just wait a few minutes and maybe the rain will ease up a bit."

"Hotch, I'm sitting here, drenched in red wine. I smell, I'm sticky, tired and hungry. I just want to get to my apartment, take a shower and grab something to eat. After everything that's happened, a little rain isn't going to make it worse."

Emily's voice was weary. Every word was like a deep thrust of a knife, but Hotch could not blame her. The date had been a disaster with Emily bearing the brunt of everything that had gone wrong. And now she'll be walking out into a freezing rainstorm. He couldn't blame her for wanting to get as much distance between them as possible. But he couldn't let her walk home alone.

"Okay, but I'll walk with you," he said.

"Hotch, no, you'll get drenched. It'll be okay, it's only two blocks," she protested.

"I'm not letting you walk home," he said firmly, opening the driver side door. He hurried around to Emily's side of the car and helped her out, using his suit jacket to cover their heads. Emily crowded close to him and they began rushing down the sidewalk towards Emily's brownstone. The jacket offered little protection as the wind blew the rain in an almost horizontal angle. Soon, their clothing was plastered to their bodies, faces and hair drenched.

By the time they reached Emily's front door, Hotch simply tucked his suit jacket under one arm and used the other to steady Emily. Her cold fingers fumbled for her keys. They fell from her stiff fingers and Hotch bent down to retrieve them. He inserted the key into the locks and opened the door.

"Finally!" Emily sighed as she stood in her foyer, kicking off her soaked shoes. She looked at Hotch who had not entered, but still stood on her front steps. "Hotch?"

"I better get going," he muttered, looking forlornly down at his wet shoes. ""I'm probably the last person you want to spend time with right now."

"Hotch, it's raining cats and dogs out there," she chided gently. "Your car isn't working and you're drenched to the skin. Come in and at least dry off. Then you can call a cab."

Hotch nodded and silently entered the brownstone. Emily shut the door after him and locked it. Her wet feet squished their way towards the interior of the brownstone. Hotch trailed after her, a defeated slump to his shoulders. It was a sign of Emily's kind and generous heart that she allowed him in from the rain. After what happened on their date, any other woman would have let him drown or freeze to death in the downpour.

But he knew that this was only an act of kindness and that any hope he had with Emily was gone.