Expectation

"Expectations were like fine pottery. The harder you held them, the more likely they were to crack." ~Brandon Sanderson


May 1994. Washington, D.C.

"I think maybe that's his head. I can't really tell anymore."

Paul looked over at his wife, who was focused on her pregnant belly. She gently rubbed the oddly protruding bump on her left side as she informed him, "I think he's trying to turn. Gods, I hope he is."

He smiled at the quip—although Erin had gone through this pregnancy like a champ, she certainly wasn't enjoying the summer heat, and he knew that she was anxious to deliver their son before the temperature became too unbearable. She was still going to work every day, though her hours had been cut back to accommodate the impending arrival of their child, and this was the first time they'd actually been out and about during the middle of the day. Of course, it didn't help that they were at a Memorial Day barbeque at their friends Clair and Stellan's house, and the fire from the grills only added to the sultry heat permeating the air.

She sat up suddenly, her hand moving to her other side. "Yep, I feel his feet kicking over here. Definitely his head, then."

With a loving smile, he reached over and caressed her swollen abdomen—the physical manifestation of their love protected inside of her. Her hand gently covered his, their fingers entwining affectionately.

"Oh, geez, get a room," their friend Sorcha rolled her eyes in mock exasperation from her perch on the lawn chair next to Erin's.

Erin laughed at the quip, reaching over to lightly spat her friend's arm before pulling herself to her feet.

"I'm gonna go inside for a bit," she informed her husband, lightly tracing the outline of his face as he remained seated in his own chair. "I need to cool down."

He simply nodded, smiling at her retreating form (it was funny, how much tinier she seemed when she was pregnant, how much more fragile and dainty she seemed). She looked so perfect here, among the sprawling lawns and pristine lines of the house, in her breezy summer dress with her blonde curls piled atop her head, further accenting the delicate set of her shoulders and the fine lines of her collar bone.

Even with a belly full of unborn babe, she still was the most attractive woman in the room. Her first pregnancy had been hell, she'd been sickly and pale and withdrawn, but with this second child, Erin had taken to motherhood like a duck to water, and Paul saw some measure of hope in this. Maybe this would be the one that made her truly want to give up her work with the FBI—with the money he made, there wasn't any need for Erin to work at all—and they could settle into the life he'd always dreamed of.

Of course, Erin would roll her eyes at what she called his archaic Americana outlook on life (she'd never called him sexist, but sometimes she hinted at it, whenever he suggested that she consider simply becoming a stay-at-home mother), but that didn't stop Paul from hoping.

After all, look at how their life with children had changed. Erin had thought she didn't want children; Paul had known that he did. They had compromised, and Erin had told him that they could start trying to get pregnant after her thirtieth birthday. Then some horrible event had happened while she had been on a case in Philadelphia, and her priorities had shifted, and suddenly she'd decided that children were a good idea. A little over a year later, Jordan was born, and their entire world changed. Erin had turned out to be a good mother (just as Paul always knew she would be), and they had been happier than ever. Their unborn son had been a bit of a shock, because they had planned on waiting a little longer before trying for a second child, but it was still a welcome surprise.

Paul knew it was foolish to hope such things—Erin was one of the most driven and determined women that he'd ever met, and in many ways, he saw that as a good thing. But he didn't understand why she couldn't simply step away from the Bureau for a few years to focus on raising their children.

It doesn't work that way, she'd told him, and secretly, he had thought that she simply didn't want it to work that way. But he wasn't too concerned about her adamant desire to be able to return to work as soon as possible—Erin hated change of any kind, so she always fought it, but once it was there, she usually accepted it and found that she preferred the new way of things. It could be that way with this child. Maybe she could finally understand why Paul wanted this for their family, and maybe she could finally accept this change as the good thing it truly was.

She had stopped on her way to the house to chat with another guest. She was smiling, nodding, glowing as she gently rubbed her side (their son was kicking again, he could tell, because she always tried to soothe him by massaging her stomach like that whenever he became too rambunctious). She laughed, a laugh that was always a little too loud to be polite or appropriate at most social functions but still endearing, and it was then that Paul truly felt the difference in their ages. He was forty and she was thirty-five, and when they were in college, it really hadn't seemed like such a big gap—some days, it didn't feel like any gap at all, but at times like this, it did. Sometimes it felt like ten years, sometimes it felt like even more than that, because Erin always looked so fresh-faced and young, because she still held onto that almost teenaged sense of stubbornness and defiance, because she still had moments of social snafus and still couldn't navigate their world with ease, despite the fact that she'd been a part of this social circle her entire life.

There wasn't anything wrong with her drive or her ambition. The trouble was that she simply channeled it in the wrong way. Women in their world became the wives of politicians and stock brokers and CEOs, and had children, and funneled their drive into fundraisers and nonprofit organizations and other lines of work that ensured they'd be home by 6pm and could take regular vacations. They didn't spend their days wading knee-deep in the darkest part of humanity's heart, cataloguing and dissecting violent crime as if it were the book club's book of the month.

She turned back to him, sending a dazzling smile zinging across the well-manicured lawn, and he couldn't help but smile back. He loved his wife, truly, he did—despite the fact that she could be exasperating as hell at times. That smile—oh, that smile!—was enough to wash away her little shortcomings, and he would do anything, give anything, just to see that smile.

They were happy and healthy, with one beautiful daughter and a shining son on the way. He could be content with that, for now.


March 1995. Vienna, Virginia.

It was gloriously, deliciously quiet in the Strauss house. Their two children were tucked in their beds and Erin and Paul were lying in their own, recovering from another quick round of sex (that was what Erin missed the most about life-before-children, the ability to spend an entire evening seducing and caressing and making love), silently listening to the gentle patter of rain on the window panes.

It was a good life, Paul decided with sudden clarity. It wasn't everything he'd wanted, but it was more than enough. In the stillness, he could hear his wife's breathing return to its normal pace.

"I think," she spoke quietly, almost hesitantly, as if she feared ruining the silence. "I think we should have another baby."

She rolled over, sitting up to peer into his face, her own features adorably quizzical as she gently asked, "Wouldn't you like another child?"

Her words filled his heart with warmth—this was the first time that Erin had ever been the one to broach the subject of children, the first time she'd ever actually expressed a desire in having a child (with Jordan, she'd simply acquiesced to his suggestion, and with Chris, it had been unplanned).

The smile on her husband's face answered Erin's question, and she felt a wave of relief. There's still a chance, I can still bear him a son that's truly his, and then I won't feel as if I've robbed him of so much.

"I'd like that very much," he said softly, reaching up to trace the outline of her jaw. Not too long ago, he'd hoped that Christopher's birth would finally push her into becoming a stay-at-home mother, but it hadn't worked—she'd gladly taken her maternity leave, but as soon as it was over, she was back at the Bureau and just as happy as a lark.

Again, he found himself hoping, because this surely was a good sign—she was actually wanting to have another child. It was a shift, a change, a good omen. She'd waited years between Jordan and Christopher, but this time, their son wasn't even a year old and she was already pining for another one.

With each child, she was moving closer to his dream—with Jordan, she became a mother, with Christopher, she became more enamored and relaxed by motherhood, and perhaps with this third pregnancy, she would finally settle into the role that she was always meant to play.

He knew it was wrong, to place so much hope and expectation on a child that hadn't even been created yet, but it didn't stop the little voice in his heart from whispering, Maybe third time's the charm...


May 2013. Vienna, Virginia.

Erin had apologized many times for all the ways that she'd failed Paul, but he suddenly realized that he'd never apologized for his own sins against her.

He'd forgotten who she really was. He had mistaken her for some soft and fragile thing, when all along she'd been a creature of blood and fire and steel. He'd taken a tiger, given it a collar and convinced them both that she was now a tame and meek little house cat. For years, she'd blamed herself for his unhappiness (and perhaps, if Paul were truly honest, he could admit that he'd blamed her as well), but now, he was confronted with the fact that it had been a two-way street—his own demands and needs and wants had made her unhappy as well.

They hadn't truly been well-suited for each other, he could admit that now with a wry grin. They'd met in college, still a bit naive and determined to change the world, and the sex had been great, and he'd seen such potential in what she could become—but now he understood that perhaps he should have loved her for what she was, not for what he thought she could be.

He knew that was why she'd loved her job so much, because she could still be parts of that fiery and fierce woman that she truly was, because she could channel those feelings and those impulses in a way that was healthy, and then she could still come home to be his loving, docile wife.

No wonder she drank so much. She had to numb herself down just to play the role he'd cast her in.

Deep down, Paul knew that was placing too much blame on his own doorstep—for as long as he could remember (even before he began making the small-but-sure demands upon her personality and her ambitions, even before he began trying to fit her into a box), Erin had issues with alcohol. Still, he wondered how much of her drinking had been directly linked to the burden of his expectations.

He was starting to see the old Erin re-emerge, after years of forced dormancy. He'd seen it a few weeks ago, at Anna's graduation, had seen that strange new spark in her eyes, that vibrant blush in her cheeks. He'd been stunned by how so much had changed—she'd even moved differently, as if she'd spent the past twenty years in a full-body cast and suddenly she was allowed to move in the way her body had been meant to, fluidly, freely, assuredly. He'd seen it over the past few days, the way she was more tender and open with the kids, the way she seemed more present, without the haze of alcohol. Obviously, the stress of recent current events had subdued her vibrancy, but the new creature was still there, just underneath the surface.

He saw it now, in the little changes throughout the house. His old study had become hers, and she had filled it with her favorite writers and poets, with her own memories and degrees and personality. The kitchen and living room were filled with fresh-cut flowers (they were waning now, because the past week had been filled with more important things, but the beautiful heavy scent of the withering lilies still drifted through the rooms) and her garden was back in prime shape.

However, the most noticeable change was in her bedroom. Of course, he knew that he shouldn't be going through her things, but since Anna was in the shower upstairs, Erin had allowed him to use the master bathroom for his own shower, and since she was in the living room, quietly reading a book until he was finished, Paul didn't see the harm in just taking a quick look around. After all, it used to be his room, too.

The bathroom had been completely overtaken by smooth cremes and delicious smelling lotions and utterly feminine hues and tones. This was no surprise, as Erin had always been a bit of a makeup maven and an absolute zealot about skin care.

The bedroom held the same furniture, in the same hues, but the bed itself was encased in a different comforter set, something darker and much more decadent than before. There was a book of poetry on the night stand, with a pair of Erin's reading glasses patiently waiting atop it, and he briefly wondered if she stayed up to read in bed, while her Italian lover dozed beside her, like she had done with him so many nights.

He glanced in the closet, not at all surprised to see that her own wardrobe had easily taken over the half that was once his. He noticed two black boxes on a shelf, and saw the shiny black letters scrolling across their fronts—Erin's new man apparently had expensive tastes in lingerie.

He shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be going through her bedroom or opening her closet, and he certainly shouldn't open the boxes.

But he did.

The first box was empty (so she's already worn that). The second box still held a perfectly wrapped set, the black tissue paper ruffling to reveal a peek of dove-gray silk.

Of course, a peek wouldn't suffice. Paul gingerly pulled back the paper and held his breath at what he saw. A short grey silk kimono, trimmed in black lace, with ruffled matching bottoms, and a halter bra of supple black leather. Erin in leather. Now there was an image worth keeping.

He hadn't realized how much he missed sex with his ex-wife until that particular moment. She'd always been the more adventurous of the two, and he knew that in some ways, she had tailored her sexual preferences to his, though she'd always seemed to enjoy herself. And even though she'd tapered her proclivities, she was still more exotic than the women he'd dated since their divorce. Now he wondered how much he'd missed out on, simply because he hadn't given her the freedom to truly express herself.

He wondered if her Italian lover let her truly express herself.

He needed to stop. With a sudden surge of decisiveness, he closed the boxes and returned them to their rightful place. Sadly, he couldn't put away the images of his former wife, in those very same clothes (god, the woman had a body that was built for slinky fabric), with some younger man (he'd always imagined that Erin would go for a younger lover, she'd always had that rebellious Mrs. Robinson air about her). Ever since their separation almost two years ago, he'd wanted nothing but happiness for her, had wanted her to find someone, so that she wouldn't be alone—but now that he was faced with the reality of that wish, he suddenly realized that perhaps he still had some unresolved feelings for her.

With a frustrated sigh, he returned to the shower. He never should have allowed himself to go through her things, never should have opened the box. He was happy with where they were now, was happy with their separate lives, with how well they worked together for the good of their children.

Still, that contentment and balance did not dispel the images of lightly sun-kissed breasts encased in smooth, soft leather.

What has been seen cannot be unseen.


Erin realized that asking Paul to stay the night was not her best idea. He'd acted strange the rest of the night, and now, as she chopped up pieces of fruit for the poolside breakfast that the kids had decided upon, he was watching her with another unreadable expression.

It was the first time they'd been alone all morning, so she simply turned to him and bluntly asked, "What?"

"What do you mean, what?" He sat a little straighter on his barstool, which was across the kitchen island from her.

She gave him a look which informed him that she was not in the mood to play games. "You've been acting strange all morning. What the hell is going on?"

"Nothing," he replied.

Her lips formed into a thin line, but she didn't press the matter further. Instead, she pushed the fruit towards him, curtly informing him, "I'll bring the rest."

He knew that his evasiveness exasperated her, but he certainly couldn't tell her the truth—oh, you know, I was just thinking about your new lingerie that I found while pilfering through your closet. Would you like to model it, for old times' sake?

Definitely couldn't tell her the truth.

Mercy of all mercies, her cell phone buzzed right as she was sitting down for breakfast on the patio, sparing her the awkwardness of enduring Paul's odd behavior. She'd already received a call at 6am from Aaron Hotchner, who quietly informed her that their UNSUB had been apprehended.

"Hello, Agent Hotchner, I assume you're on your way back," she answered, not bothering with idle greetings as she re-entered the kitchen through the French doors.

"Yes, ma'am. We've only got about an hour left in-flight," he replied in his usual no-nonsense tone. He launched into a brief overview of the case—of course, one of their agents (Derek Morgan) had slightly breached protocol, but in the end, everything had worked out.

Erin merely rolled her eyes heavenward. There was a time when she would have given the entire team a right royal ass-chewing for such behavior, but now she was too tired to fight their constant stream of small insubordinations. She had accepted the inevitable fact that her best and brightest team was also her problem child, so to speak, and que sera sera.

"And there were no new messages or taunts?" She asked the question that had been weighing on her mind from the moment they'd left for Missouri two days ago.

"No, ma'am."

"I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing anymore." She admitted with a heavy sigh.

"I don't either," Aaron replied softly, and there was a quiet moment of camaraderie between the two.

"Go home. Spend the rest of the day with your son," she ordered, though she knew it wasn't necessary.

"Will do, Chief."

Knowing that her agents were safe and on their way home gave Erin some relief. She turned back to the doorway, taking a moment to watch her family through the glass—even though she and Paul were no longer married, he was still part of her family (he was still the person who had known her for over three decades, who had been by her side through some very tough times, he was still the father of her daughters, forever a part of her heart and her life).

She shouldn't have asked him to stay last night. It was too strange, having him back in the space in which they'd shared so many moments and memories. After she'd returned from her 90-day detox, they hadn't seen each other very often, and Erin was realizing that it was a good thing. Having him over every evening for the past few days had been a little awkward at first, but she'd found it bearable because it was temporary, and he was only there for a few hours. But inviting him to stay overnight had put things on a completely different level, and in hindsight, Erin realized that it might be a place that they didn't need to go.

Gods, nothing could ever be simple. With a heavy sigh, she returned to the patio, where Anna was already regaling the rest of the family with some incident from the road trip to Somerset.

"Everything alright?" Paul leaned over, asking in a low tone so as not to interrupt their youngest child's tale.

"Yes. Fine," she offered a quick smile.

"Good," he nodded, smiling in return. For some reason, his response irritated Erin—he was so damned polite, so gracious all the time. David wouldn't have asked if everything was alright. He would have merely arched a dark brow, silently taunting: So glad you decided to join us, kitten.

Oh, David. How easily thoughts of him snuck into her brain, suddenly overwhelming her with a strange breathless need as she remembered the smaller parts of their life together.

She had known that it wouldn't end well between them. It wouldn't; it couldn't. Happy endings were for fairy tales, for people unlike them (because truly, after all they'd done, they didn't deserve happiness with one another, she certainly didn't deserve any at all), for couples in movies and books, for people with better luck.

She could accept that, because she had no other choice. She'd had her time, she'd taken what she could, and that was all that she could do. She had some good memories, had some bad ones, had some that walked the strange land in-between, but she didn't regret a single one, because all of them were inexplicably David.

Her mind accepted this truth like the pragmatic machine that it was. Now if she could only convince her wayward little heart.


Rural Virginia.

David Rossi tossed his go-bag on the end of the bed, sighing from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. Despite his tired relief at another case closed, he actually felt a strange sense of energy—he'd gotten a nice little cat nap on the plane, and it was a lovely almost-summer afternoon. He should take Mudgie into the woods surrounding the house for a nice, long walk, something to clear his head after all the insanity of the past week.

After changing into more appropriate attire, he opened his closet and grabbed his tennis shoes—a small sound came from one of the shoes, which felt slightly heavier than the other. Turning it upside down, David stared in surprise as a small torsion wrench tumbled to the floor. He knelt, gingerly picking it up.

This was how Erin had let herself into his house, the night of his birthday surprise. She'd tucked it back into the pocket of her dress, and it must have somehow slipped out whenever he hung the dress in the closet, landing in his shoe.

How serendipitous.

He realized that he was actually smiling at this odd little quirk of fate. After Detroit, he'd known that he was going to forgive Erin (deep down, he'd always known, because he always did, no matter what), because he'd understood her reasons, had understood the circumstances and had accepted the fact that his own actions had contributed to the situation, putting her in this horrible moral quandary.

He had known he was going to fully forgive her, he just hadn't known when. He'd tried staying away, letting his wounds heal a little better before trying to find some working balance between them. Suddenly he knew that his wounds would never heal properly until he sat down and heard the whole truth from Erin Strauss.

He'd accepted the reality of their son. But he didn't know the whole story.

He needed to know.

Erin owed him that much, owed him the full truth, owed him the chance to sit down and sift through the ashen remains of all that was (and more importantly, he knew that she would give him all of that, if only he asked, because for the first time ever in their relationship, she'd become the one who gave, the one who acquiesced, the one who endured so that the other might be happy, though sadly that realization did not bring David any joy).

He stood up, giving the wrench one last glance before tucking it into his pants' pocket.

It was time to face the music.