leftinbasketforfbi | A prerequisite for being in the BAU is the utter refusal to listen to doctors.

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A prerequisite for being in the BAU is the utter refusal to listen to doctors.

Reid wasn't exactly mad. He was more resigned. He had known that Rossi would probably leave before the doctors okay'd his departure, but he was still somewhat frustrated by the stubborn Italian. Would it kill the man to just take care of himself? (He wondered if that was how Hotch felt every time one of them were gravely wounded and then showed up to work two days afterwards.)

Reid drove up Rossi's driveway, but he had to pause at the wheel after he stopped, swallowing hard. The last time he had done this, he had ended up having to shoot a man and keep Rossi from bleeding out before paramedics arrived.

He took a deep breath, then opened the car door, stepping out and shutting it behind him. It wouldn't help anyone if he dwelt on that experience.

Reid knocked on Rossi's front door. Even if Rossi wouldn't take care of himself, Reid could make sure he was alright.

(Continued from here.)

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If Rossi was unsure, Reid was utterly clueless.

"W-we're on a date now?" His hands twitched uselessly on his knees. "Okay. Okay, I can work with that."

He stood up from his chair. It was courteous for the guest to help with the meal, right? Well, courteous or not, he was going to do it. "You got stabbed. You have an excuse to not do the cooking. Let me get it out of the oven.

He didn't even wait for a response before he started walking to the kitchen, chewing his lower lip. "If you feel strongly about it, you can cook next time."

Next time.

"Not much of one," he murmured.

Once Reid stood up, Rossi attempted to do the same, but his body wasn't just stiff this time; there was a tug of pain, so he thought better of it and stayed where he was.

Next time was encouraging, despite the clumsy way they were navigating this.

"I'll surprise you with something."

"Better than most of my first dates."

Seriously. Most of his first dates usually ended disastrously. He flashed a shy smile over his shoulder, taking out oven mitts before pulling the casserole out of the oven.

"We should probably wait for it to cool down a little."

If this was better than most of Reid's first dates, the bar had been set far too low. It gave him an advantage, though. And it gave him a good perspective on just what Reid had experienced in the way of romance so far, and that experience was completely unacceptable in Rossi's view.

"Just wait until I'm feeling better," he smiled back.

It would be too warm to cut into just yet.

"You wanna eat at the table, or on the couch? We could watch a movie." If this were a proper date, there wouldn't an option: they'd be at the table. But it felt good to stretch out a bit, and though it was more informal than he would have liked, it was also practical.

And after the rather intense conversation they'd just had, a movie might be a nice distraction.

There was a reason Reid had judged himself inadequate for any romance a long time ago. Rossi may have had three wives and God knew how many partners under his belt, but Reid's experience was much more... limited.

"A movie could work." That was something people normally did on dates, right? "What do you have to watch?"

It felt surreal. Was this really happening? Was he seriously nursing a budding relationship between himself and a teammate?

"What don't I have?" It wasn't an exaggeration, really. He had a large den, and a few equally large cabinets lining the walls, all filled with DVDs. As one could expect, most of the movies were film noir, older classics starring the likes of Bogart, Hepburn, Grant, various psychological thrillers, a few Charlie Chaplin movies, and even the Marx Brothers; his taste in comedy was more narrow than most people's, perhaps, so his selection was limited.

"Tell you what, since I didn't cook this time, you pick the movie."

It felt equally surreal to him, though he did at least have more experience with this. He recognized, too, that it would be up to him to guide a lot of this, in the early stages. Predictably, he didn't have much trouble with being the one to take control, and guide Reid.

Reid was happy to hand the reins to Rossi. He wasn't incapable of taking control, but he knew when he was out of his element, and Rossi was more likely to know what he was doing.

Various questions ran through Reid's mind--what about the fraternization rules? Were they going to even try to hide this from a team of FBI profilers? How would the rest of the team react? How long would this last? How far would it go? Was he making a mistake?--on and on while he walked to the cabinets with DVDs, looking through the titles.

"How about The Haunting?" The 1963 Robert Wise version, of course. Reid, despite practically living in one, loved horror movies, especially particularly psychological ones.

They were all valid concerns, and all things that Rossi had been thinking about; he'd had plenty of time to think in the last week, after all. The other reason he hadn't said anything until now was precisely so he could consider all of those things. He knew that if Reid reciprocated, he would be completely out of his element, and having two people equally uncertain about what to do next wasn't the most desirable situation. So he'd wanted to be sure he would be confident enough about this to be the steady voice of reason and certainty.

"Sounds good," he agreed. Despite what Reid had said earlier about getting the casserole, Rossi stood up slowly anyway, and headed towards the kitchen. It wasn't even conscious on his part, he was just so used to doing things on his own, in his house, that even being injured didn't deter him. Besides, Reid was busy getting the movie ready. He reached for the plates, wincing at the movement, and putting a hand to his abdomen. He paused before setting down the plates and reaching for a spoon to serve the casserole with.

Reid appreciated Rossi's confidence. It was one of his more attractive traits, and having someone around who knew what he wanted and how to go about getting it was reassuring, to say the least.

He turned around to see Rossi standing, trying to serve the casserole, and he immediately scowled. "You shouldn't do that when you just got out of the hospital! If you sit down for a second, I'll get it." Once again, it felt weird to confront Rossi in any manner, but he was willing to ignore his own discomfort to stop Rossi from acting stupid.

He'd lived alone for so long -- most of them had, really -- that it was more instinct than any foolish need to prove he was healing quickly, or could do it on his own. The throbbing pain in his side was a good sign that he should just sit down and comply. It was just a casserole, after all; he wasn't forfeiting something important.

He shuffled back to the couch and sat down heavily.

"You're getting better at that," Rossi encouraged, with a crooked smile. "Speaking up." He had a dominant personality, and he knew it, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate Reid taking some initiative and being firm as well. That didn't always mean he'd give in, either, but it didn't mean he wouldn't.

"Hmm?" Reid had already re-assumed his submissive body language. Admittedly, it had been getting easier to speak up. It wasn't easy, but he was able to do it. He gave an awkward smile, popping the movie into the DVD player and going to the table to get the casserole. "Well, I have to keep up with a team full of Alpha personalities somehow."

To be honest, he had learned a lot about being assertive without being unkind from his teammates, Rossi included. He wasn't sure how he would fare if Rossi actually tried resisting, but he was sure he'd find out soon enough. He set the casserole in front of the table in front of the TV on top of a place mat, adding two plates, utensils, and a serving spoon. "Now I guess we'll see how much Garcia learned from your cooking lesson."

"Not an easy thing to do," he sympathized. He wouldn't and couldn't change that aspect of his personality, though he had certainly mellowed quite a bit. Part of him did wonder how Reid would fare if Rossi got particularly cantankerous while convalescing. It wasn't that he had it in his head to purposely be argumentative, if the situation arose, but he was sure he'd do something he shouldn't be doing yet -- he knew himself well enough to admit that -- and not be pleasantly acquiescent.

"She promised me there's no tofu in this," he said. Still, there was a skeptical look on his face as he brought the fork to his mouth and took a bite. It wasn't of the same caliber as his homemade lasagna, but it was decent. Better than he'd been expecting. He'd already thanked her, of course, but he'd make it a point to tell her that he enjoyed it, too.

Once the movie started, he felt even more...right about his decision. It was easy to feel that way when they weren't talking, when the movie gave him a chance to think and reflect. Halfway into the film, he let his arm graze Reid's, the slightest of touches, just testing it for now.

Reid shivered at the touch, but he didn't draw away like he often did. He was curious. Curious about how far this would go. Despite his social awkwardness and his generally limited romantic experience, he had had relationships before, and he was at least able to navigate the physical aspects of a relationship without much more than the initial anxiety that always came when a relationship just started.

His indicator of his acceptance was slightly leaning into the touch after a moment of surprise. The movie was being just as suspenseful as it was renowned to be--Reid was busily dissecting the use of various storytelling and cinematic tricks that contributed to the tension, but he couldn't concentrate as much as usual with the presence of Rossi next to him.

He had to be utterly insane to be going along with this. This had to be one of the worst ideas ever. He found he didn't really care that much.

Rossi had seen the movie enough times that he could let his mind wander in and out of focus and still be able to piece together what was going on at any given moment. Even the first time he'd seen it, though, he doubted he'd approached it the way Reid was likely approaching it now, with a desire to examine every facet of the storytelling, and how each element fit together to create such an intriguing story.

Just imagining the way Reid's mind was working had him affectionately amused. He teased sometimes, sure, but he loved Reid's mind.

He hadn't pulled away from the touch, and a part of him wondered what he was thinking now, as Rossi took it a step further, reaching out for his hand.

There was only a small hesitation before he took Rossi's hand. He normally didn't like touching people, but that was more because he wasn't comfortable with getting too close to people he didn't know. He knew Rossi, and his only discomfort with being close came from the butterflies in his stomach.

He couldn't help but be reminded of two teenagers, awkwardly holding hands while watching a movie. It was amusing, since if anything, he was the awkward teenager, and Rossi was moving slowly to accommodate him.

It was reminiscent of one of those awkward, teenage first dates, punctuated with desire, curiosity, intent. Rossi wasn't used to moving quite this slowly, delicately, but he was also fully cognizant of when he needed to, and he needed to right now. This wasn't some blithe fling, there was depth of emotion, love, and that necessitated nurturing and care. It didn't mean he'd always move this slow, though.

He looked down at Reid's hand, stroking his thumb across the knuckles.

More than anything, Reid needed to believe how important this was to him, and he would communicate that as best as he could. He squeezed his hand, then raised it to his lips to kiss the knuckles. Awkward teenager Reid might be, but in contrast, Rossi was a libertine.

Reid appreciated the gentleness with which he was being treated. He doubted that Rossi was like this with all his love interests, and he liked being eased into the situation, given time to adjust.

At the feeling of Rossi's lips against his knuckles, his breathing hitched slightly in surprise and his cheeks became red, but once more, he didn't pull away. Instead, he closed his eyes, completely ignoring the movie for a moment. Rossi's breath was warm on his skin. His goatee brushed against Reid's fingers. It felt like his nerves were suddenly ten times more sensitive than normal.

"You're making it really hard to watch the movie," Reid said quietly, giving a small breathy laugh. He wasn't complaining at all.

He knew what it took for Reid to let him take the initiative like this, moving them one step forward. He also knew that if he left it up to Reid to take the next step, they'd be stuck in this phase for a very long time. Stagnating. And that simply wouldn't do.

He smiled mischievously; it was nice knowing he could evoke that kind of reaction from him, and they hadn't even properly kissed yet.

"I could stop," he offered; wording it like that was intentional, since he very much doubted Reid actually wanted him to stop.

For now, Reid was content to allow Rossi to take the lead. He wasn't always going to be submissive, but he understood when he had no idea what he was doing. He knew that Rossi would stop the moment he asked him to, and that was enough for him.

"I never said you should." He took a risk. He scooted a little closer to Rossi.

The movie kept playing, but he hardly paid attention.

He stretched so that his legs were straight out in front of him, crossing his feet at the ankles, and leaned back more completely against the sofa cushions. The movement, slight though it was, was yet another step in the right direction. He'd kept a hold of his hand, but now he moved it so it was on his lap, covered by both hands now, their fingers intertwined.

By now, he'd given up entirely on paying attention to the movie. His focus was entirely on Reid. The tips of his fingers brushed back and forth across the palm of his hand. Unsurprisingly, his skin was soft, and he found himself wanting to touch and explore more of it. His fingers moved to his wrist next, lingering over the pulse point.

Reid's pulse was fast. His stomach fluttered. Rossi's skin was rough compared to his own, but that wasn't saying much.

He closed his eyes, dedicating his sizable intellect to analyzing the touch. The creases in Rossi's palms. The steady pulse in his thumb. The gentle ghosting his fingers did against his own hand and wrist. He didn't know hand-holding could be so intense. It made his face flush.

Carefully, his fingers started moving too, tracing the creases in Rossi's hands. Automatically, Reid's mind went to the significance of hands, humanity's most basic tools and one of the biggest collections of nerves in the body. His finger's found what palm readers would call Rossi's heart line. Then his head line. Then his life line. He traced them, his mind examining the significance behind the creases. Intellectualizing the rush he was feeling from the slight touch.

Rossi had his own appreciation for hands, though his was rooted in the power of touch to bind, connect, tether two people to each other. It was such a simple act, twining fingers together, but there was nothing simple about the emotions it beget. Holding someone's hand very often led to a desire for claiming their heart as well. Many people had held his hands through the years, but never like this, never had they been studied like this before. It was pleasant, to say the least. He let Reid explore, examine, giving him room and silence enough to consider it, what it meant and how he felt.

His own pulse was beating a bit more rapidly, too, something which Reid was sure to detect.

As Reid's fingers ghosted down his palm to his wrist, he could feel the quicker heartbeat. It made his breathing get heavier. He remembered one of his few romantic partners once telling him the effect his careful touches had. If Rossi was going to make his heart beat faster, he decided to do the same.

He focused on Rossi's hands. Earth hands, characterized by broad palms, deep-running lines, and long fingers. He ran his finger down Rossi's fate line, then traced the curves of the sun line, the girdle of Venus, the Mercury line, tracing the crosses and hatched pattern in his skin. He felt the soft spots, the callouses, the tiny ridges and spirals.

Then, almost without thinking, he pulled one of Rossi's hands up, brushing his lips carefully against his wrist, his breath blowing against the older agent's carefully examined palm.

His breathing became a little more uneven; shallow, long breaths held tightly in his chest while Reid studied his hand the same way an artist might observe a work of art, noticing all of the flaws and perfections, memorizing every detail, to be conjured up any given moment after this one had ended.

His lips were soft, too, and he wondered (not for the first time) how they would feel against his own. He wouldn't wait and wonder much longer, but he also didn't want disrupt Reid's entrancing exploration.

Reid's fingers brushed against Rossi's knuckles as they moved to the back of his hand, and he started to retrace the lines with his lips. He ghosted his lips along the fate line, then heart line, then head line, then life line. The creases, unique only to Rossi, were memorized, examined, interpreted.

Then he drew away, closing Rossi's hand and intertwining their fingers.

"I like your hands."

By now, the movie was all but forgotten.

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