Fandom: Criminal Minds
Summary: Good pie is sometimes hard to come by.
Author's Notes: Unbetaed, based on the fact that you cannot find good pie in this country. Can't even find canned pumpkin. I made the whole thing from scratch, and I am a terrible cook. We'll see how it tastes. Also, for those interested, my original fic can now be found at the link found on my user page
It was a Saturday afternoon late October when David Rossi unlocked his door to the smell of baking.
It was something he hadn't experienced in a very long time; not since his first wife. She'd been a marvel in the kitchen, cooking up gourmet dishes from table scraps, professional cakes with what seemed like no effort at all. All that disappeared when she left, taking a good chunk of his weekly pay check with her.
He was no slouch in the kitchen himself, of course; both his mother and Nonna had made sure of that. However, like all of the Rossi men, his cooking skills didn't extend to the things one might find in a bakery. Of course, there was only one person who could possibly be in his kitchen, and he all of a sudden realized that he'd never seen Emily Prentiss bake before.
They'd known each other for a little over a year and a half, been "together" for a third of that, been almost living together for the last month. The opportunity rarely arose to pump out a tray of cookies, and yet he had, for some reason, assumed that cooking was something that she tried to stay far, far away from.
'What's cooking?' he asked, hanging his coat on the hook in the hallway next to the kitchen. He was a little more curious than he was letting on; after all it was an opportunity to get to know her better. She didn't say anything, instead greeting him with a kiss. He tried not to notice the flour that was sticking to her nose and cheeks.
'Pumpkin pie,' she told him eventually, by which time he had already made a point of licking the flour off.
'Already? It's still a month until Thanksgiving.'
She gave him a look. The kind of look she routinely gave unsubs and local cops when she wasn't particularly impressed by whatever line of bull they were spinning. This look though, had an undertone of humor to it.
'It's Halloween pumpkin pie,' she explained, adding, with some sense of melancholy. 'Do you know how hard it is to find good pumpkin pie when you're a globetrotting latchkey kid? It isn't exactly part of the staple diet in Libya. You want a good pumpkin pie, you have to make it yourself.'
'Is this the only deadly secret you've been hiding from me?' he asked, pulling her towards him. He pressed his lips against the pie filling that had somehow made its way to the base of her throat.
'Well, there is some stuff involving spies, and secret government agencies, but I'm sure that's nowhere near as tantalizing as my secret love for pie.'
'How much longer on the timer?' he whispered softly, not letting his suggestiveness go unnoticed.
He leaned in for another kiss. 'That's long enough.'