Title: Deep Sleep – Part 4

Author: Sara Nublas

Character: David Rossi

Rating: FRT

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of the show Criminal Minds. No infringement intended

Warning: tags to 5x3 "Reckoner"

Summary: sleep is the only moment when profilers expose their troubles and fears without being able to control them, so I decided to try and dig into their minds to see what's most frightening or bugging them. There will be one shot for each profiler, all the stories are completely independent from each other and take place in different moments, the only common theme being sleep

Notes: Beta'd by the amazing freddlerabbit, thanks a lot for helping with the description of Manhattan.

A/N: First off, I take for granted some references to the episode. I tried to incorporate them into the narration, but they would sound so clunky and spoil the flow of the story. (I know, it sounds presumptuous to assume that the story flows).

Thanks a lot for reading and reviewing so far!

Rossi: Orpheus and Eurydice

Rossi drops his keys on a table near the entrance door of his apartment; it's been a hard case.

He doesn't mind switching on the lights. He heads directly to the sofa, where he plumps down heavily letting his head fall back to rest for a few minutes.

Then, tiredly, he reaches for the bottle on the coffee table in front of him and fills a glass. He has consolidated this fixed routine over the years, every time a case would hit badly.

He lets the scent of the aged alcohol pierce his nostrils; he smells the tar and the wood of barrel where the whiskey aged for 20 years. For some reason, whenever he encounters it, he associates this scent with the image of a solitary, remote cliff in Scotland.

He could move there, he thinks.

Are there unsubs even in Scotland?

If so, it's not worthy of all the logistical nightmare of moving down there, he resolves quickly.

He takes a deep breath, realizing that his line of thought is nonsensical and inconsequential, but he doesn't mind. He's so tired.

David Rossi has seen some of the sickest, most aberrant minds. He has explored and analyzed them. He almost flirted with their deviations in order to understand what triggered them and how to predict their next moves. When he began his career, profiling was not even considered a science. They didn't have private jets or fancy names for their unit and policemen regarded them as mongrels between state employees and charlatans reading the future in their crystal balls. It took a lot of time, and mistakes, to get their trust and to learn how to do this job properly. A lot of lives were saved, a lot were lost.

Many of his colleagues got lost too.

Some lost sleep; they had seen so much evil that they couldn't find any comfort and beauty around them, unless self-medicating with the bottle.

Others abused their authority, starting to believe that heroes were above the rules and allowed to dictate their new laws.

Some of them became time bombs: keeping their cool on the job and then loosing control with such fury over their beloved ones. They turned into the monsters they wanted their families to be safe from.

Everyone got his scars.

Rossi decided at least to keep his personal hell to himself. He kept his interactions shallow -as shallow as four marriages can be- and every time that matters started becoming intense, he made sure to handle them with a neat and clean cut. He let all the people he really cared for slip away, take other paths, genuinely convinced he was acting in their best interest.

"Arrogant, selfish bastard," he mutters to himself swallowing a sip of whiskey.

He was convinced he could protect everyone; he believed he could shield people from pain, because he thought he knew better.

Truth is, he didn't know a damn thing.

When David Rossi closes his eyes, he doesn't see his monsters; those are lingering on his shoulder every single waking hour, when he engages in a relentless inventory of his wrongdoings, of the lessons he learned, of the good and the bad days.

When Dave falls asleep, he slips into an even worse hell. He can touch first hand what he will never be able to have, what is lost forever, what he never actually fought for. Emma.

It's a cold winter evening and a white blanket is covering Manhattan. Even the chaotic, frantic routine of cars, bicycles and people seems to slow down; all the noises are muffled and an entire city tiptoes under a cascade of snowflakes.

Rossi braces himself and enters the hotel; while he walks through the hall, puffs of frozen breath are still coming out of his mouth. He shows his badge to the policemen and walks past the secured perimeter. The CSU has arrived and the detective in charge is already speaking to the other profilers consulting on the case. Rossi keeps quiet, he looks around, taking in details about the scene, the reactions of people passing by, searching for someone hanging around too long, sticking out from the crowd…

All of a sudden he sees her, gliding toward the elevator, an otherworldly creature meant to light up people's life with just one look. She casts a distracted glance at the cluster of people, police and agents, without slowing her pace or indulging in any voyeurism. Then their eyes meet. She looks away at first, then suddenly recognition darts on her face; she freezes and turns back. She frowns incredulously and then a big, genuine smile appears on her mouth.

David Rossi doesn't feel cold anymore.

Then reality snaps down an impossible path.

In a moment his ambitions, his job, his vocation seem all idle accessories. He knows all he wants in life is right in front of him, and for some cosmic, uncanny reason she knows it too.

Later that night, holding her in his arms, in a classy hotel room, he promises her they will be happy and she believes him.

They fantasize about living a secluded life in the countryside; away from the horrors they've both seen from different standpoints of the justice system.

They're tired, and need understanding, something pure and untouched. They want to forget who they are and start off a new life away from everything.

The conversation morphs into a childish stream of chatter about their favorite books, the road trips they want to take, their favorite foods. They go on until dawn, when they fall asleep exhausted and blissful, in each other's arms. Outside, another noisy morning is starting; garbage trucks move heavily down the streets, cabs honk and people put newspapers up to passersby. Dave and Emma don't care, not today.

The first ray of light intrudes through his eyelids. He reluctantly wakes, and takes in the sight of his living room; he's lying on his sofa, the empty glass still in his hands.

The memory of a six-year-old girl, keeping in her arms a black and white kitten her dad just brought home, bluntly surfaces to his consciousness. He smiles with bitterness, remembering she decided to call him Oscar, after Oscar Wilde.

Dave silently sits up. A grimace of pain hits him as he tries to move his neck, sore from the uncomfortable couch.

It's day now. The fantasy is over and his lover swallowed away in a dark corner of his unconscious.

In honesty he doesn't know whether to feel grateful or furious for that.

"Sooner or later we all shall pay for what we do" he quotes, while he heads off to prepare a cup of coffee.

Quote from Oscar Wilde, An Ideal Husband.