The Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed

Author: Kuria Dalmatia
Rating/Warnings: PG, spoilers for S9's "In the Blood" (profanity, case-like violence)
Characters/Pairing: Rossi (Rossi/Carolyn, Rossi/Strauss)
Summary: It's been ages since Dave has been to Confession.
ARCHIVING: my LJ, AO3, Tumblr and FFNet account... anyone else? Please ask first.
TIMELINE: Prior to S9 "In the Blood".

November 2014

COMMENTS: Unbetaed. Written for the Wrisomifu challenge over on LJ. Like many people, I was initially surprised that Dave didn't bring photos of Carolyn and Strauss to Garcia's Day of the Dead. So then I got to thinking on why. Here it is.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been…" Dave looks down at the rosary Nono Rossi made him, how he'd woven in around his right hand. He was the last grandchild to receive one before the man had died. Dave's father took up the tradition but…

Dave stops himself. He's distracted.

Again.

He clears his throat.

Why the hell is this so damn hard?

"The important thing is you're here now," the priest tells him, soothing and genial. Just like a Man of the Cloth is supposed to sound.

It's been ages since Dave has been to Confession. The newly built church near his home doesn't have the Old School, Traditional confessionals, the types that are shown in movies. Two side by side boxes with a heavy mesh screen between, a wooden divider that slides open when the priest is ready to hear one's confession. The newer churches are all about 'face to face' conversations, looking at the priest in the eye and saying, Here's how I fucked up.

Dave can't stand those types.

He tried it once, right after putting a bullet in an UnSub's head. It was his first time shooting someone outside of the Marines, and it haunted him… it still haunts him. He'd given his confession in a New Fangled "Face the Priest" room with the comfy chairs, Bible on the small table between them, crucifix on the wall to the right of the priest's shoulder, and some stupid-assed instrumental music playing in the background.

Pacable's Canon in D. I can go through the rest of my life without ever hearing that again…

"I'm a federal agent," Dave began him, showing his badge so that Father WhatsHisName understood that Dave wasn't going around shooting people just because. "And I was working this case." He gave the details about the rapist, how the UnSub mutilated his victims' genitalia and what the UnSub forced them to ingest. When he looked up, Father WhatsHisName turned a shade of grayish green rarely seen outside a morgue.

That was when the profiler in Dave took over: Father WhatsHisName was a recent seminary grad, this parish his first assignment. This was an older neighborhood, so the confessions were probably along the lines of "I ate a porterhouse steak on Good Friday" rather than "I don't feel bad about gakking that sonofabitch because he made those little boys swallow…" Yeah. Dave knew he'd have to change parishes after this, because there was no way in hell Father… Father Richard "Please, call me Ricky" Rousch could ever shake his hand after Mass without remembering this conversation.

"… the present."

Dave's gaze immediately goes to the black mesh between him and the priest. The other man is leaning close—nose nearly pressed against the divider—as he tries to gauge why Dave has all these lapses into silence.

"I've been divorced three times," Dave blurts. "None were annulled."

There's a sigh from the other side, as if the priest is thinking, If this is the only thing causing his distress…

"But that's not why I'm here."

There's sharp intake of breath. The type that conveys, Oh shit, it's going to be one of those confessions.

At least this particular priest has experience in this situation.

That's when Dave talks about Carolyn. About Erin. How he failed both of them. He clutches the rosary tight in his hand, the 'could haves' and 'should haves' flowing out of his mouth like a spigot with a broken handle.

He gets it all out. All of it.

"I failed them," he concludes. "I failed both of them."

"Did you call for help?" the priest asks.

"Carolyn swallowed an entire bottle of Tramadol before I arrived," Dave says. "How she held on long enough to be lucid when I got there? I have no idea. Once I realized what she'd done… listen… I've been in the business long enough to know the outcomes. Oh, I don't know the percentages like one of my colleagues, but an overdose is an overdose. You eat a whole prescription of Tramadol? You're not gonna wake up. And that's what I know she took. Because, believe me, Carolyn hedged her bets. I know she took a much more than what I found."

"But did you call for help?"

Dave closes his eyes. "I took her in my arms and I texted a message to the one colleague I know who would get the paramedics over there ASAP, no questions asked." He pauses, the beads digging into the side of his hand. "I went through the wringer with those first responders and the locals." He winces at the memory. "Yet my colleague?" Even now, he can't betray her name. "She never asked once about what happened. So, I taught her my family's ziti recipe. The one I'm supposed to teach my grandkids. Which I don't have… but I taught her because it was the only way I could think of repaying her." It's then that he thumps the side of the confessional with his non-rosary laden hand. "I should have seen it."

"Only God is omnipresent and omniscience."

"He needs to share that talent with us," Dave quips sourly.

"God…"

"Only grants us the knowledge that we can handle," Dave interrupts. "I remember that homily, Father."

There's a bit of silence. Dave can hear the other man shifting and wonders if he's checking his watch. Dave does, and realizes he's been in The Box for nearly 10 minutes.

He's not the only one here today. He attends this church enough to know some of the regulars. They track him down instead of vice versa. Mrs. Skarzynski is here probably having a field day with the time that has elapsed, the old gossip. He can imagine her whispering to the other parish matrons, And that FBI agent… he was in there for an hour. And hour I tell you! Even if it was only for fifteen minutes.

"And Erin?"

The prompt makes him twitch out the response, "I wasn't there for her."

"How?"

"I got caught up in the details of the case."

"Your job…"

"It was late," he interrupts angrily. "Hotch already called it a night. I should have gone with her." He feels the tears swelling in the corners of his eyes. "I should have gone with her." The silence that follows fuels his surliness. "Sorry. I know you'd prefer the Blue Hairs' confessions to mine…"

"Davey."

And suddenly, he's not just some random Fed spouting off the failures of his cases to some random priest.

He's Davey.

The other man is Jimmy.

Father James to the parishioners, but always 'Jimmy' to him.

It's an offer.

Clear. Plain. Simple.

It's beyond The Collar and The Badge.

"If you're in town on November Second, why don't we meet?" Jimmy suggests. There's a casualness to his voice, but the undercurrent is worry.

Dave's memory automatically fills in the blanks. All Souls Day. A time when he can pray as hard as he can in hopes that Carolyn and Erin are cleansed from their venial sins so they can go on to Heaven. He's not foolish enough to believe that either one got a clear ride to Heaven.

Yet… November 2. All Souls Day. November first is All Saints Day. October Thirty-First is All Hallows Eve.

"I got this thing at work…" he begins but then realizes why he's at the church to begin with. Dave stops by the Church to light candles for Erin and Carolyn when he can. That is in addition to the thing he does at home. He doesn't know if he can do the same for these women at Garcia's shindig, because he will probably break down into a sobbing mess.

And, for the love of God, he admits this to Jimmy and adds, "I pray every day for them. I have these battery operated votive candles because I got so shitfaced one night, I set the damn carpet in fire. Mudgie is the only reason I'm not homeless. Damn dog tipped over my water glass… and hell if I know why I had a full glass of water in the first place…"

"God is omniscience and omnipresent."

"God is damn-assed thirsty."

Jimmy chuckles a little. He lets out a long sigh. "What you need is more than I can offer to you here."

"I need a shrink."

"You need someone to talk to, someone who will listen without judgment."

"Do you have any idea how many shrinks I've outwitted in my time?"

"Let me rephrase it. Meet me on November Third. Just you and me. We'll talk. Simple as that. No pressure. The only reporting to a Higher Power will be me praying to God for guidance."

For a moment, Dave considers a sarcastic retort, something along the lines of, What are priests charging by the hour for nowadays? But he recognizes he offer.

A sincere one. One outside of the BAU and FBI.

"November Third," he agrees. "I'll put it on my calendar."

"In the meantime, I recommend meditation and a few chaplets of the Glorious Mysteries. It is Wednesday after all."

"You're a task master," he finds himself teasing as the grip on the rosary eases.

"It's why you came to me."

**** Finis ****