Nuova Vita

by Aleize Claire

Erin's life hangs in the balance when she's caught in the clutches of The Replicator. She's given a chance at a new life and family with Rossi. Little do they know evil lurks in the shadows, hell-bent to destroy her.

19. Chapter 19

"Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within."

— James Baldwin

Meanwhile, Erin was at home and Dave was at his mansion, playing with Mudgie in the backyard, there was an unsuspecting custodian taking care of the BAU. The man had a name, but no one in the FBI building knew what it was. He whistled a pleasant tune and went about his day, cleaning up messes he didn't make.

The man never had much to do, when he went to the 6th floor of the FBI building. The profilers kept the bullpen neat, they picked up their own trash and cleaned the communal areas. He went over the floors with an industrial vacuum, cleaned the bathroom and called it a day. The whirl of the air conditioning caught his attention, the filters hadn't been cleaned in a while. Using his faculty key, he went inside each office, cleaned the filters and moved on to the next. The air was dry and changing the filters only created more dust. More dust, meant more dusting, for him. He thought about it, for a moment, working smarter, not harder was the way to live.

Tucked away in a facilities closet was a stack of humidifiers. He left one in each office, then moved on to the 7th floor, with the last humidifier tucked away on his cart. He planned to leave it in the first office he came to, before going home. Again, he used his Master key. That thing was magical, it gave him access to any part of the building he desired. Too bad no one he worked around, was particularly interesting. He pondered this thought as he stepped out of the elevator, still whistling his tuneless tune. The office of Section Chief, Erin Strauss, (whoever she was) would be the lucky recipient of the last humidifier.

---

Dave tossed the ball for Mudgie, the repetitive motion, helped to clear his head. Throw the ball, wait for Mudgie to bring it back, pick up the ball, wait, throw…. repeat until he had his problems figured out. Because of his current block, Dave kept Mudgie in the backyard for longer than usual. Finally, the retriever took the ball in his mouth and laid down on the grass, his brown eyes locked with Dave's, reminding him that neither of them were as young as once were. Dave stooped down and scratched him behind the ears, "I guess playtime's over."

Dave sighed, despondent. At this point, when he had a mental block, he would usually call Erin. She knew how to help him work out his problems, but he couldn't call her now. They were 'on a break.' Which meant, no free counseling for him. He picked up the ball from between Mudgie's paws and carried it back to the patio, bouncing it on the red brick, waiting for the solution to come to him. He could give Erin her 'break' in a normal situation, but this wasn't a normal situation. He'd abandoned her in her house, while a serial killer stalked her. He wasn't that kind of man, leaving her as a sitting duck, went against everything he believed in. Including, the oath he took, to protect and serve. He caught the ball in his hand one more time and lifted his head. He knew what he had to do, but she wouldn't like it.

He slid the back door open, for Mudgie. The dog trotted inside and made a beeline for his water bowl, when he saw it was empty, he picked it up in his mouth and dropped it at Dave's feet, with a clatter on the brick patio.

"Okay, you made your point," Dave grouched, stooping down to pick up the bowl. He went inside and filled the bowl, leaving it on the floor. "Are you satisfied, Your Highness?" Mudgie lapped up the water, paying no attention to his master's grumpy attitude.

"Well?" Dave snapped, when the dog lifted his head out of the water dish. "What do you think I should do?"

Mudgie laid down on the kitchen tile, covering his face with his paws, as if to say, 'leave me out of this.'

"You're no help," Dave complained. He grabbed his phone off the counter, as he suspected the call went right to voicemail. "It's me," he sighed. "It's been 10 hours. I don't like it. Call me, let me know you're okay."

The only thing he knew to do was work the case. He was no closer to a solution to any of his problems, than he was when he left Erin's house that morning. Starting with, how the hell could Blake be the unsub? Yes, Erin saw her, but she was also traumatized and disoriented. What happened if the team went on her word, accused Blake and they were wrong? He sat down at his kitchen table; Erin's eye-witness testimony was unreliable. He had to trust the profile. He got up, grabbed a notebook from a drawer in the kitchen and started writing.

Whomever the stalker was, had ties to Erin and John Curtis. They poisoned her and left before she could die. Therefore, potentially killing her indirectly. Almost, like he didn't want to get his hands dirty, but why? Obviously, he was copying other serial killers, but Erin was his endgame. He copied other cases and stalked the team, to torture her. His final act was to leave her alone, sick and terrified. That wasn't a copycat, Curtis came up with that, all on his own.

Rossi kept writing, he wrote down everything he knew about Curtis and Blake. He hoped and prayed that the two didn't match up. Why the hell didn't Curtis have any other friends? Or maybe...Dave picked up his phone and dialed the one person who could help him put the pieces together. "Penelope, I need everything you can give me on John Curtis."

"The Replicator, Sir?" Penelope asked, "I-I-thought he was dead-"

"He is, as far as we know. I need everything. Blood type, information on his parents, go back as far as you can."

"How far, Sir?" She asked tentatively. Why was she investigating a dead unsub, on her day off?

"Preferably..." he paused for dramatic effect. "Back to conception."

---

Erin broke her self-imposed quarantine and drove down the street, ignoring the obvious unmarked car on her tail. Her house was too sterile, like a staged environment than a home. She had better things to do than sit and wait to be attacked. Unfortunately, she had to do it with an audience. She turned off the highway and made a left, at the outdoor gun range. It wouldn't do any good to carry her weapon, if her aim was off. She unbuckled her seat belt and watched the unmarked cars park on either side of her Forester, were they going to follow her to the bathroom too?

She pulled the door handle and got out of the car; her bag of ammunition was in the back seat. Opening the back door, she reached for her bag. She jumped slightly when a car door slammed behind her. A second later, there was a hand on her shoulder.

"Do you want some help with that, Ma'am?"

Erin rolled her eyes without turning around. "No." She pulled her gun out of the bag and turned around, levelling the barrel of the gun at the man in front of her. "Show me your badge." She said, pushing the back door closed.

"Ma'am-I-" he stammered, dropping his hand from her shoulder. I'm just the security detail-"

"Prove it. Show me your credentials." She stared at him, daring him to make a move. Whomever he was, he was acting outside of his position as the security detail. Security agents weren't supposed to get out of their cars unless there was a threat. If she was unnecessarily paranoid, she had a good reason to be.

He reached into the pocket of his jeans. "I won't hurt you," he said, pulling out his creds and handing them to her. "You can check-I promise-"

She inched back to the driver's seat of her car, still holding the gun on him, without breaking eye contact.

"You can put that away," he said, calmly. "Rossi's going to be pissed if he found out I let you fall on your ass on the gravel."

She took the credentials, read them and tossed them back to him. They landed on the gravel in front of him. With one hand still holding the gun, she reached behind her and pulled the door handle. When he stooped down to pick them up, she climbed into her car, closed the door and hit the automatic locks. Suddenly, her empty townhouse didn't seem so bad.

She put the car in gear and drove off, slinging gravel off the parking lot. Gripping the steering wheel in a white knuckled hold, the erratic beat of her heart slammed in her chest. No one in their right mind would have held an unloaded gun on a federal agent. She needed to go home and lock herself inside before someone got hurt. Her fear and paranoia were going to get someone killed. Glancing up in the rearview mirror, she didn't see the agency's car behind her. She pulled into the parking lot of a gas station and turned off the car, leaving the keys in the ignition. She closed her eyes, took a breath and willed her heart rate to level out. She rested her forehead on the steering wheel for a few seconds, breathing deeply. "Come on, Erin, get ahold of yourself," she muttered and put the car in gear. When she was more composed, she made a call. "Garcia, I need everything you can get on Craig Edwards."

---

Dave ran a hand through his hair for the fortieth time, he was certain the motion was going to cause his hairline to recede. He'd poured over John Curtis's case file and practically had Blake's memorized. Still, he came up empty on any other suspects. All signs pointed to Alex Blake as The Replicator's accomplice. How the hell could a person only have one friend in his whole life? That baffled him, people naturally gravitated towards others, but judging from the evidence in front of him, Dave could see that John Curtis was able to turn off that basic instinct. He reached for the glass of cabernet on the side table next to him. He'd hoped, swapping his scotch for wine, would cause an epiphany. So far, lady luck was not on his side. He took a sip and laid the glass aside; something was fishy in Denmark. The faster he cracked the case, the faster he could focus on the things that really mattered.

He surveyed the files that were sprawled out on the coffee table in front of him, when he'd asked Penelope for dirt, the technical analyst brought a mountain. Blake's file sat on the bottom of the pile. Curtis' high school yearbook was opened to a random page on the floor, his case file was open but Dave ignored it. He was more interested in the yearbook. If John Curtis cared enough and was vengeful enough to target Erin to fulfill a lifetime vendetta, there was someone in his life no one had considered.

He leaned back on the sofa and stuffed a throw pillow under his head. Flipping through the book, without giving it his full attention. The wallet sized pictures were faded with time, the faint stink of mildew permeated the pages.

As much as he tried to submerge himself in the mundane trials of a high school senior, Dave just couldn't focus. He flipped another page; Curtis wasn't in any clubs or student body organizations. Surprisingly, not even the science fair. If not for the class photo with his name and face, Dave wouldn't have believed that John Curtis went to that school.

He tossed the book aside and stacked the manila files into a neater pile. He needed fresh eyes. He glanced at the clock; the team would be headed home soon. Scratching his chin, he wondered how much scotch it would take to convince them to put in some extra hours.

His phone rang from the corner of the coffee table, "Rossi."

---

While Rossi conceived a plot to convince his friends to help him catch a ghost, Erin was home, locked in her mausoleum. The curtains were closed, the alarm set and chairs piled in front of all the doors. She was officially losing her mind and she knew it. Or, maybe, her mind was already long gone and this was the icing on the cake? From the looks of the townhouse, she was headed to the padded room, sooner than she ever expected. She shoved a broomstick in the handle of the sliding glass door, to secure it. She'd stepped outside into the backyard to test her new, 'security system.' The pack of body guards outside didn't quell her anxiety when she didn't trust them.

Alex was supposed to be her friend and her friend had tried to kill her, how was she supposed to trust a stranger? With friends like these…. well, the rest of the phrase was just too relatable to repeat. Erin gave the sliding door another yank, as she thought, it was just as secure as before. The only doors that didn't have a chair or some kind of barricade in front of them, were the French doors that led to the deck. They weren't accessible from the outside and the deck didn't have a staircase attached. With that job done, she snatched John Curtis' file off the kitchen table, crossed the living room and mounted the staircase.

As much as she wanted the BAU to solve the case, they would have other cases that had to take priority. She set Curtis up, trapped him and eventually he committed suicide. She would suss out his accomplice too, but not now. There was no forensic evidence, no eye witnesses could identify the person who left the plant on the patio, no fingerprints. Nothing, except a sample of an unidentifiable chemical compound that was dusted on the plant. It wasn't even the same drug Curtis used the first time. For all anyone could tell, whomever left the plant might not have been connected to The Replicator at all.

Erin considered all of this as she went to her room, left the file on the nightstand and changed clothes. Sweatpants and a t-shirt were due to become her uniform, since she couldn't leave her house. She thought about calling Dave, but that would put their relationship back where they started. They hadn't spent a day apart in over a week, he needed his space. Even if he didn't realize it and she didn't like it.

She unbuttoned her blouse and tossed it in the hamper, then reached behind her and undid the clasp of her bra, then launched it into the hamper too. Dave's Cubs jersey hung on the back of the chair sitting at the desk in the corner of the room. Why would he leave that? She wondered, he had packed his bag that morning, she was certain she gave it to him. She folded all of his clothes and left them on the dryer for him to pack. She'd pulled the jersey off the drying rack, herself. Either way, she snatched the shirt from the chair and yanked it over her head. He'd left her with a baby and Cubs jersey for her trouble, she only had herself to blame. Loving David Rossi was sometimes a one-way street. With that said, she walked over to her walk-in closet and grabbed an empty box off the floor. The man cave had to go, if the man went with it...well...that was up to him.

---

"Why didn't anyone say anything to me?" Penelope snapped, the glass of wine in front of her teetered on the edge of the table in front of her.

"We didn't want to scare you-" Derek said, reaching around to push the glass back onto the table to keep it from spilling.

"Don't touch my wine!" She snarled and slapped his hand. "I need that to process this betrayal. You all knew!" She looked around Rossi's dining room, her dearest friends surrounded her. Suddenly they felt like strangers. "You suspected Blake all along-"

"Penelope." Hotch said as gently as he could muster. "We needed you to remain objective, we still do. "Technically, we're not even supposed to be working on this case."

"At this point we're waiting for her to make a move," Rossi explained. "We have to catch Blake in the act-"

"She won't come after any of us," Derek said, with more confidence than necessary. He might as well have puffed his chest out and pounded on it. Meanwhile, Penelope still looked horrified.

"I don't know." J.J. said, quietly. She stood closest to the door that led to the living room, where Jack and Henry were sleeping. "Nobody thought she would come after Strauss either. She could try to get the heat off herself-"

"Shouldn't Strauss be here? You guys always work your own cases-" Penelope cut in.

"Not this time-" Rossi said, flipping through his copy of the case file.

"She's better off at home," Derek agreed. "She's got holes in her memory-"

"So, you're saying she's no help-" J.J. said.

"And she's home alone-" Penelope interjected, glaring daggers at Rossi. "What kind of boyfriend are you?"

"She's not alone-" Dave defended his position. "There's a security detail surrounding her house."

"That means absolutely nothing." Penelope said, narrowing her eyes at Rossi. "I talked to her today-"

"When?" Rossi asked, a little too quickly. He could feel the team staring at him.

Penelope rolled her eyes, "If you had been with her, you would know that she asked me to dig up dirt on one of her security guards. FYI, I didn't find anything- so, are you going to share with the group why she wasn't with you?"

Dave glanced around the table, five pairs of eyes stared at him, waiting for an answer.

Dave held up his palms in the 'surrender' pose. "Penelope," he bit his tongue to remind himself to be nice. "We're not talking about this. Strauss is a housewife, she's not a field agent. She's sitting this one out."

"Ooh…" she goaded, with one finger on her chin. "Let me guess, trouble in paradise?"

"There's a serial killer-" Dave started to say, when he was interrupted.

"Accomplice-" Hotch interjected they didn't have any proof that Blake was involved in any of Curtis's crimes, except attacking Erin.

"Going after my Lady," Dave finished his sentence as if Hotch hadn't spoken." I'd say we're in big trouble."

"Notice, he didn't say girlfriend-" Penelope jumped on the chance to needle Dave.

"It was implied-" Hotch said, defending Dave then he picked up Curtis's yearbook and studied the pages.

"Lady sounds more distinguished-" J.J. teased, laying her copy of the file aside. They had stacks of case files, from Curtis's other crimes and his personal life. Blake's personnel file, college transcripts and files from the cases she worked before she was transferred to Kansas, were laid out on the dining room table. The mahogany wood was buried under a sea of manila envelopes.

"It's better than 'woman-'" Reid said, teasing Derek.

"Pretty Boy, I think if Rossi called Strauss woman, she would turn him into one."

Laughter rippled through the room, but the usual comradery was undercut with the severity of their situation. The laughter didn't come easily and the jokes felt awkward, when there was a murderer among them.

Dave tossed a case file aside and scrubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. "We're not getting anywhere tonight." He pushed his chair away from the table. "I need to make a call." When Dave was out of earshot, the team traded surprised glances. "Did we just bully him into calling Strauss?" Derek asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He always calls her," Hotch said.

"Yeah, he calls her names." J.J. teased, in good fun. She saw firsthand how Rossi cared for Strauss while she was in the hospital, they weren't being secretive about it either.

"No, seriously." Hotch said, "Why do you guys think we always go to the hotels with a gym? Rain or shine, for the last year he's called her every night."

"And you hid out in the gym when you had to room with him?" Derek smirked, "that explains all those late-night workout sessions."

Hotch cracked a rare smile. "I didn't like it as much as you did."

---

90's music streamed from the laptop on the nightstand in the man-cave of Erin's townhouse. The calm strains of Macy Grey's 'I Try' set the tone. Erin wanted to take the baseball pennants off the wall, throw the deer taxidermy in the garbage, break the lamps and donate the ugly, oversized recliner to the nearest Goodwill. She got as far as the pennants; they lay in the bottom of the box. The only reason why the lamps still sat on the end tables, was because she didn't have another lamp to replace them. The soft light they emitted was just enough to set the tone.

Still, she needed to consider other options for the room. As far as the chair, well, it was too comfortable to donate. The leather was soft and well broken in, she stretched her legs out on the chair and cracked her neck. Yeah, it was much too comfortable to donate. She glanced up at the dead eyes of the 12-point buck on the wall, with disdain. It was ugly and frankly a little creepy. She didn't want it in her house. Dave was proud of it; he'd shot it on a hunting trip with his favorite cousin and he would want it back. It was mounted too high on the wall for her to get it down without a ladder, he would have to come get it and take his baseball pennants with him. If he left the chair, she wouldn't complain.

The queen-sized bed took up most of the floor space in the room. It would have to go to make room for a crib. She lay back in the recliner and closed her eyes, mentally mapping out her ideas for the nursery. She'd trade the recliner for a small couch or a rocking chair, but rocking chairs weren't very comfortable. The baby wouldn't sleep in his own room until he was at least six months old, anyway. In her mind, there was a pale-yellow rug on the floor, the crib and changing table were made of oak wood, solid and dependable. She made a mental note to call her father and ask if he still had the handmade cradle that her children had slept in. It would be good for this baby to have the family heirloom. 'The baby,' needed a name. She couldn't call him Little Man, forever.

If she had her way, she would name him Charles, after her father, but she knew Dave would never go for it. However, Carlo was the Italian translation of Charles. "Is your name Carlo?" She asked out loud to the empty room. "Carlo Rossi…" that rolled off the tongue pretty well, but what would happen if David didn't want to give the baby his name? "Carlo Kincaid," she said, reverting back to her maiden name. "Well that doesn't have the same ring to it, but it's not bad." She said, rubbing her bump. "I don't care if David likes it," she closed her eyes, almost asleep, clinging to the last threads of wakefulness then felt them slip away. The sudden vibrating of her phone was a rude awakening. She jolted awake, groping in the crevices of the chair for the phone. When her fingers closed around it, she slid the screen and held it to her face. "This is Erin Strauss." She croaked; her voice thick with sleep. She cringed at the way she greeted the caller, the only person in her professional life who had this number was Director Fickler. He insisted that she call him John.

"Are you locked in your house?" A shrill voice asked.

"What?" She asked, blinking a few times to get her bearings.

"Erin, it's your mother. I asked you if you locked yourself in your house, the way you did when you were 12 and afraid of thunderstorms."

"Hi Mom, sorry- I was-I was asleep-"

"It's only-" Vera checked her Rolex. "It's only 11. I was just calling to check on you. You didn't answer my question," Vera said. "Are you locked in your house, even though there are half a dozen security guards outside? There's no sense in lying about it."

"Fine." Erin huffed, "I might have put a chair in front of the doors."

"I'm your mother, I knew that already."

"Are my kids okay?" Erin asked, impatient and exhausted.

Vera nodded, "they're fine. Don't worry," she lifted her glass of chardonnay to her lips. "They think they're on vacation."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

"Well, that's how they're acting. Peter takes them to the movies and Paul is learning how to play golf. The girls have been to the mall 3 times this week-"

"You're letting my children run up your Visa bill?" Erin asked, partly surprised and bemused.

"They have a budget," Vera gave an offhanded shrug. "What is grandmother's for if not to spoil the grandkids?"

"Good point." Erin relented, "have fun and don't let them get too used to having fun all the time. When this is all over, we're going back to our normal life."

"Well, at this point I would hope your definition of 'normal' would be pretty fluid." Vera said snidely.

Erin didn't have the energy to argue. Her chest lifted as she took an intentional deep breath. "Thank you for calling, Mother. I'm going back to sleep."

"Oh-uh. Goodnight. Call me tomorrow."

"Goodnight," Erin repeated and hung up the phone. She sat it down on the arm of the recliner and put her hand back under her head, when the phone rang again. She groaned in aggravation, sat up and lowered the footrest on the chair. "What is it?"

"Hey…" Dave paused; he didn't know what to say. "It's me." He closed the door of his study to block out the conversations drifting up from the dining room. "How are you feeling?" He asked, pulling the leather chair away from his desk and sitting down.

"David…" Erin sat up a little straighter, giving him her full attention. Why did he sound so shy? "Tell me what's wrong," she insisted.

"Nothing," he shook his head and glanced at his watch. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was so late. You need your sleep, go back to bed."

"I wasn't asleep," she said hurriedly. "You need to sleep too…"

He cleared his throat and grabbed a pen from the cup in front of him. He rolled it awkwardly between his fingers, "How are you feeling? Are you still…" he scrubbed at his forehead, the word he needed escaped him? What was the word he was looking for? "Cramping!" He said, a little too loudly. "Are you still cramping?" He asked, lowering his voice.

"No." She stood up from the chair and turned off the lamp, then grabbed her laptop from beside it. She always slept better in her own bed. "I-I feel better." She said, crossing the hallway and entering the master suite. "Whatever was on the plant, didn't last long." She didn't think to mention the paranoia, the way she jumped when a car backfired down the street...holding her gun to her security guard...all of those things were none of his business.

"Good...good." He nodded, satisfied. "The lab called, they said it's water soluble, if you wash it off, the symptoms are likely to disappear. That makes me think that the Unsub doesn't want the victim dead-"

"Oh no, she doesn't want me dead, she wants me miserable, paranoid and scared." She said, laying her laptop on the desk, she plugged it in. "Sometimes I think it's working," she admitted. She couldn't take this situation day by day, she was taking it minute by minute. Right now, everything was fine, but twenty minutes from now, she could be hiding in her closet because she heard a noise. There was no in between.

He sat then pen down on the desk, his tone turned serious. "You're not going to give her what she wants." Dave encouraged, "don't give Curtis and Blake that much power. We're going to fix this and take her down, but until we do, you can't let her get to you."

"I'm not."

"Okay, now back to more important things, did you have dinner?"

Erin chewed the inside of her cheek. "Pretzels and French onion dip counts."

"Salt and empty carbs," he grouched. Then let the silence hang. "Look, can I come over?" He finally asked, "I know it's late...I just…" He hadn't slept without her under the same roof in a while, it was a disconcerting feeling. "I don't like the way we left things. I called you, you know...you didn't answer."

She laughed at him, "go to bed, David."

"This isn't funny, I asked a serious question." He said, his eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

"I gave a serious answer," she countered.

"No, you didn't. You laughed at me."

"No, David, you may not come over tonight." She said, mocking him.

"I told the doctor I would take care of you-"

"And I told you to sleep in your own bed tonight. My door is locked and I'm not going downstairs to open it."

"I'll use my key," he said, thinking about the key she gave him months ago. He didn't put it on his key ring. Instead, he hid it on his mantelpiece, for safekeeping.

"No." She said with conviction, "you may not come over tonight."

"Tomorrow?" He asked hopefully. "You make coffee and I'll cook."

"Deal." She said, trying and failing to hold back a yawn. "Goodnight David."

He cleared his throat again. "It's a date. G'night Erin." He pulled the phone back from his face, then thought better of it. "Wait." He wanted to ask her what she wanted for breakfast, but it was too late, she had already hung up.

Erin climbed in bed, under the blankets and closed her eyes. She didn't want to throw David out, she wanted him to stay. Maybe forever. If they didn't kill each other first, but that couldn't happen without an honest conversation. Why was he completely on-board with fatherhood when she wasn't 7 months pregnant? Why was he horrified that their child had an 80% survival rate if he were born now? She thought about this and stuffed a pillow underneath her head.

"Aren't you going to invite me in? I brought drinks." The words echoed in Erin's head like alarm bells, her eyes opened and She sat up with a start. Sweat dripped down her neck and chest, soaking Dave's jersey and the bedsheets underneath her. Her heart raced, flooding her system with adrenaline. With shaky hands she reached for the service weapon on the nightstand and lay back, with the gun clutched tightly in her hands and waited for the home security alarm to sound and strained to pick up the sound of her security detail outside. The only thing she heard was the chirp of cicadas outside. Looking around the room, slowly realizing that nothing was out of place. Erin laid the gun back on the nightstand. The door was closed, the laptop on the desk showed a screensaver of an innocent polar bear. There was nothing to be afraid of, but her ribs still ached because her heart wouldn't slow down, she closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. After all, she had a date in the morning.

---

It was literally a brand-new day. The sun shone brighter than Dave had ever seen it, as he loaded down the backseat of his Cadillac with groceries. Fresh and frozen fruit, eggs, cereal, milk, bread, cheese, ice cream…. You name it, if the grocery store sold it, he bought it. Once the shopping cart was empty and the cardboard box, he'd stacked the groceries in, was full he closed the back door of his car. He opened the door to the passenger side and laid a bouquet of fresh flowers in the seat next to a bottle of prenatal vitamins. He walked the cart across the parking lot to the cart corral. He told Erin he would make her breakfast and he aimed to please.

He crossed the grocery store parking lot with a spring in his step. Even the air felt cleaner than it had been before. After talking to Erin last night, he decided to really put some effort into deciding where he wanted their relationship to go. He wrote, prayed, paced in every room of his house, trying to convince himself otherwise but deep inside he knew what he wanted. Even if he wasn't prepared to say it out loud. Either way, the Rossi men were kings of the big romantic gesture. Groceries and flowers were just the start.

He realized that he didn't need a break from Erin. He needed a break in the case to put away the person attacking her. Apart from the stalker, today was shaping up to be a perfect day. He went back to his car, got in and started the engine.

---

Erin laid her service weapon in the drawer of her bedside table and closed it. She needed to put her trust in the security team outside. If she didn't, well...she didn't want to think about the consequences. With that in mind, she walked into the en-suite bathroom and started the shower.

Forty-five minutes later, she stepped off the last step of the staircase and headed for the kitchen. She had plans to dust off the good china and lay the table while she waited for Dave. Then frowned at the state of the lower level of her home. Before she could do anything, she had to put all the kitchen chairs back at the table. Having a breakfast date meant nothing, if he couldn't enter the house.

She started at the actual front door, because it was directly in front of the staircase. That door was never used unless the mailman left a package. She reached for the brass doorknob and turned it, the knob didn't move and the deadbolt was in position. She grabbed the chair and dragged it across the living room, back to the kitchen table. Whatever extra security measures she put in place; Dave didn't need to know about them.

Dave parked in the driveway; Erin's car was locked in the garage otherwise he would have parked there. He grabbed the flowers off the passenger seat and got out of the car. He followed the concrete walkway up to the front door. The one that was only used for packages and strangers. Whistling softly as he rang the doorbell once with his finger and listened for the chime. He waited, tapping his foot anxiously with the flowers in his hand. "Erin?" Rossi yanked at the handle of the screen door, but it was locked. He knocked twice, but she still didn't come to the door. "Strauss!" After a beat, he rang the doorbell again and pressed his ear to the door, with a knot in his stomach and his heart in his throat. He was just about to step off the stoop and call her, when the door opened. "If I had known you were here, I would have opened the garage." She said, undoing the latch on the screen door with her fingers.

"Don't worry about that," he said, hoarsely. "Are you okay?"

"Of course, I'm okay," she said, smiling at him and pushing the door open. "Come inside." She said, holding the door open.

"You didn't come to the door right away," he accused, stepping over the threshold.

"I was upstairs," she explained. "I thought I had a few minutes to touch up my hair and make-up before you arrived."

"You look great," he said with a smile. "These are for you," he held the flowers in an outstretched hand, awkwardly.

"They're beautiful," she said, taking the bouquet. "What's this?" She asked, pulling at the cardboard box taped to the stems.

He chuckled and pointed to the flowers, "If you say you're going to put those in water, I'm walking out and coming back when you're normal," he teased.

He was right, they had no reason to be nervous or resort to tired clichés, just because things were different didn't mean they had to be reserved and uncomfortable.

"Prenatal vitamins?" She asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

"I... uh...I didn't know if you had any." He said sheepishly. "They have five stars on Amazon. They're uh... they kinda look like candy."

"Okay," she cleared her throat. "I hadn't thought about that…thanks. Onto a lighter topic. Where am I supposed to put these?" She asked, arching her brow, holding the flowers in one hand and the vitamins in the other.

"In water," he relented. "Put the flowers in water when I'm outside." He said, with one hand on the doorknob.

"Where are you going?"

"Just keep the door open and I'll be right back." He turned on his heel and walked back out to the car.

Erin went to the kitchen and filled a vase with water and added a splash of Sprite. The sugar would help extend the life of the bouquet of roses and sunflowers. She made a mental note to trim them later, but for now they were just the right height to fit in her favorite vase.

She glanced up when she heard the screen door slam closed. "David, what in the world are you doing?" She left the soda on the table, with the lid off and went to help him. She could hardly see the top of his head; over the box he was carrying. He sat the box on the floor, sweat beaded down his forehead. "How can I cook breakfast-" he panted, "when you don't buy food?"

"I buy food," she grouched. "I don't purchase fillet mignon and organic eggs, like you do, but I buy food." She said, with her hands on her hips.

"Either way," he withdrew a cotton handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead. He opened his mouth to tell her that the discount section of the grocery store wasn't good enough. Then changed his mind. His boat was barely in the water, that kind of comment would have torpedoed it. "I'm making breakfast." He went over to the box that contained the grocery bags, insulated bags held the perishables and everything else was in plastic bags. He grabbed an insulated bag at random and unzipped it. "How do you want your eggs?"

Erin wrinkled her nose, "baked in a cake, a quiche or on someone else's plate. Chef's choice."

"Okay…" he reached into the bag, laid the eggs on the table and pulled out a fruit tray. "As you know, I'm nothing if not thorough. For our first course, how about some fruit?"

She slid the tray across the table and pried off the lid. The tray snapped as the seal between the lid and the tray was broken. Once it was open, Erin laid the lid aside and stood up. She grabbed the forgotten bottle of soda off the table and screwed the cap on. "What do I owe you for this?" She asked and took one of the bags out of the box.

Dave turned to face her; a disgruntled expression darkened his features. "Don't worry about it." He grabbed a bag off the floor and stomped around the counter that separated the living space from the kitchen. "I'm making frittata and toast," he said, dismissing the thought of her paying him back.

"David-" she protested, "I have money, I just-" she reached for her wallet on the countertop. "Let me pay you back-" One person didn't need so much food. There was enough food and household supplies to stock a small army.

"No." He said the word like he had just sucked a lemon. "I don't want your money." He grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and started cracking eggs, ignoring her.

She gestured to the bags of groceries in the corner of her living room. "David, I can't use all of this before it spoils-"

"Then send it to the kids, Erin." He shot back, as if it was obvious. If she couldn't use it, feeding the kids would give her peace of mind that they weren't going without.

"You don't have to do that-" She tried to argue with him, but he wasn't having it.

He turned away from the eggs he was cracking and went to her. "Did you ever stop to think that this is more for my benefit than yours?" He asked, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I'm a very selfish person, Erin. I don't do a damn thing that doesn't somehow benefit me. I don't want to worry about you not taking care of yourself. I don't want to worry that you don't have what you need because you don't like have security tailing you-"

She hadn't thought about it like that… "Okay." She finally said, "but you know I don't need your help. I can handle myself-"

"That doesn't mean you have to," He threw back. "Come on, Erin. Throw me a bone here. This is the only thing I know how to do in this situation."

Another thing she hadn't considered…." I'm sorry." She said, "I'm just not used to this."

"I've brought you things before," Dave said, wrinkling his forehead, with a confused look on his face. "What's the difference?"

"A gallon of milk on your way over is one thing, this." She gestured to the bags again. "Is something a husband does and you said you needed a break, forgive me if I'm a little confused here."

"You decided that," He insisted. "You gave Curtis and Blake exactly what they wanted, by sending me away. Forgive me if I don't want to give them that much power."

She held his hands and looked up at him. "I agree, I don't like…" She didn't want to tell him that she didn't like being alone in her house. He didn't need to know that the townhouse felt more like a mausoleum than a home, when she was there alone. She didn't want to sound weak; vulnerability wasn't her strong suit. She just stared at him, holding his hands until he broke the silence.

"What is it, Erin? Talk to me," he insisted. "You can tell me."

If she couldn't be vulnerable with him, who could she be vulnerable with?

"Come on, Sweetheart, spit it out. I've already seen you naked." He cracked the lame joke to try and get her to loosen up, but it didn't work. She just stared at him, holding his hands. "You can tell me," He said gently, stroking the underside of her wrist with his thumb.

"I'm afraid," she said with a crack in her voice, "and I don't like being here alone."

"I knew that," he pulled her into his arms and let her face rest in his chest and let out a heavy breath. "If it helps, I didn't like leaving." He assured her, "We're not trying that experiment again."

She let out a breath and let him hold her, she felt safe with him.

"Don't speak so soon," she said, thinking about the state of his man-cave. "I might have jumped the gun last night...I started packing your things."

"How far did you get?" He asked, she felt his chest jump as he chuckled.

"Why aren't you mad?" She asked, pulling away from him.

"Well...I hope this means that I'm one step closer to sleeping in your bed," he said, cracking a smile. "Answer the question, how far did you get?"

"Why does it matter?" She asked, she picked up a grocery bag and sat it on the counter.

"If the pennants are the only thing in the box, I know we're okay. If you got on a ladder to take Don down, I'd be worried."

Erin's eyebrows flew into her hairline. "It has a name?" She asked, glaring at him in surprise.

"Of course, he does, I've only had it 10 years...maybe it's not the one his mother gave him, but it has a name." Dave said with a shrug. "So, tell me, what's in the box?" He asked, going back to the kitchen and beating half a dozen eggs in a bowl.

"Your baseball pennants are in a box; your cubs jersey is in my hamper." She admitted and began to stack the perishable food inside the refrigerator.

"Oh, you found that, huh?" He asked, laying a package of bacon in a skillet, then turned the knob and waited for the hiss of the gas stove. Soon, the whole house smelled like a restaurant. He went to the sink and washed his hands.

"Why did you leave it?" She asked, and grabbed a bag of fresh spinach off the counter, she dumped it in a colander and rinsed it. Then, set to work on slicing some yellow potatoes for the frittata. David's frittata had the same core ingredients every time. Bacon, potatoes, spinach, cheese, eggs and cream. If there was a leftover vegetable that needed to be eaten, or a block of cheese that hadn't been used, he would throw it in, but he never varied from the basic, tried and true ingredients.

"Because you like it and I like seeing you in it." He said, as if it were obvious. He flipped the bacon with a fork, it popped and sizzled, the pan was almost too hot. He reached down and turned the knob on the stove to lower the flame. "It's sexy," he said, when she didn't respond.

"Say that again," she said and laid the chef's knife in the sink.

"I said, you're sexy." He repeated, louder this time.

She laid the plate of sliced potatoes on the counter for him to add to the skillet. "I heard you the first time." She teased and flashed him a smile.

He grinned and started putting the slices of bacon on a plate covered in paper towels. Then Dave turned off the stove completely. He had a feeling that soon, food wouldn't be a priority….

"Why did you make me repeat it?" He asked, reaching for her hand.

She pulled away, "I like hearing it." She said as she brushed past him to get the loaf of bread off the dining room table.

Was he imagining things or was her blouse missing a button? "Well, you are sexy and smart and beautiful," he continued singing her praises. "Apparently I don't tell you that enough." He said, watching her lay slices of bread on the pan for the toaster oven.

She turned the dial on the toaster oven and slid the tray of bread inside. "Well, I didn't think I liked hearing it until you started saying it." She said and flipped the switch on the coffee maker and didn't turn around. He would come to her, eventually.

Dave crossed the kitchen and laid his hands gently on her shoulders. "Oh, how I love thee…" He whispered in her ear. "Let me count the ways." He dropped a kiss on her neck, just below her earlobe. "If you're expecting the rest of that quote you're out of luck."

She giggled as his facial hair scratched her skin as he left a trail of kisses down the side of her neck.

"You're sexy," he mumbled and planted his lips on the base of her neck.

"You said that already," she teased.

"Oh, did I?" He pretended not to notice. "I love your hair," he reached up behind her head and undid the clip that held her hair in place. Her thick blonde hair tumbled down her back. "Your mind," kissed her gently on the temple and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Your mouth…" he took her chin in his hands and Erin felt herself growing more heated by the minute. "Go on…" she said, fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt.

"I love your mouth," he repeated, his eyes filled with lust as he drank in her face. "And the passionate things that come out of it when you disagree with me." He said, tilting her chin up, his hand ran across her cheek, cupping her face in his palm. "That happens pretty much all the time, which brings me back to...sexy." He said and planted his mouth on hers, her arms constricted around his neck as their tongues fought for dominance, finally, for the first time since leaving for New York, things felt right in their corner of the universe.

He pulled back just enough to speak, "C'mere," he growled then captured her lips in his again.

Erin gasped as Dave's big hands reached around and grabbed her butt. She felt her feet leave the floor, her legs wrapped around his waist, their mouths still intertwined. She pulled back slightly as he carried her into the living room.

"You broke a sweat carrying groceries, how the hell can you carry me?" She gasped as he gently laid her on the floor in front of the sofa, away from the windows.

"A mother can lift a car off her child," He said, his nimble fingers made quick work of the buttons on her blouse. "I can carry my lady for the benefit of my sex life," he said, but she could tell he was trying to catch his breath.

"I suppose the two are one in the same," she said, unbuttoning his shirt with trembling hands.

"It hasn't been that long-" He thought back to the last time they were intimate, a week ago, maybe two. Either way, it was before they went to New York.

"It feels like it," she argued, pulling one arm out of her blouse.

He lifted the fabric of her blouse between his fingers. "Can I take this?"

"You first." She commanded, and yanked his shirt to separate the buttons. "Snaps?" She asked, when the shirt parted easily and the buttons didn't separate from the shirt.

"I had a hunch," he admitted, shrugging off his sport coat. "Easier access." He said, joining her on the floor. "I guess I wasn't the only one who had a hunch," he said, hooking his finger underneath the front clasp of her bra and released it.

"I couldn't call you over here for a booty call," Erin teased and sat up, her nimble fingers made quick work of his belt buckle and the button on his jeans. "You would think I'm easy."

"Easy' isn't in your vocabulary. You always take the hard way around," he growled and locked his mouth on hers again. All she had to do is lay back and relax as their tongues gently swept back and forth, tasting and teasing. Flames of attraction flickered in his stomach. "Can I touch you?" He asked, pulling back slightly to look in her eyes, her pupils were dilated, the flush of her cheeks traveled down her neck.

"Better hurry up," she whispered, with a lump in her throat. Usually, they were quick, fueled by passion or rage. They didn't talk, they were too busy...well...gettin' busy. Trying to find a release. Making love with David Rossi was something entirely different.

"Are you okay?" He asked softly, running his hand up her leg. He looked at her with lust and adoration in his gaze, as he reached under her skirt and pulled down her panties.

"I'm fine," She gasped when his hands kneaded her bare ass. "Your hands are freezing!"

He chuckled, with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "The rest of me is very warm," David assured her. He slipped her silk panties off her ankles and threw them across the room. "You won't be needing these." He dropped his head and turned his attention to the rest of her body. He palmed her breasts with his hands and played with her nipples, her facial expressions spurred him on. The wrinkles between her eyebrows let him know he was on the right track. "Do that again," she instructed when he nipped tenderly at her collarbone. He did as he was told, nipping his way down to her chest.

"You're not usually like this," she gasped as he took his time with her firm breasts in his hands.

"We're different now," he said and gently planted a kiss on each of her breasts. "I plan to enjoy this."

"And, I'm supposed to sit back and enjoy the ride?" She quipped, already breathless and lustful, on the edge of completion.

The air conditioner kicked on and he followed the trail of goose bumps on her alabaster skin, with his mouth.

"Currently," he lifted his head to look at her. "I'm driving, yes, I expect you to sit back and enjoy the trip." He turned his attention back to her body, touching her, massaging, savoring his time with her. Legs, back, thighs, breasts, bottom…. She hadn't aged a minute since the first time he saw her like this, what seemed like a million years ago...from this angle, there was a barely discernible bump poking out of her abdomen, he wanted to follow the curve with the palm of his hand, but thought better of it. She was fit, enough to pass the bureau's physical fitness test but her curves were soft and smooth.

He reached between her thighs and tested the waters…. "Are you ready?"

"Born ready." She gasped, already teetering on the edge. He yanked his jeans and boxers off, reached into the pocket and said, "glove?"

"Are you stupid?" She gasped, when he hooked one finger inside her, bringing her closer to completion. "I'm already pregnant."

"Eh, good point," Then he sent his jeans and boxers across the room to join her panties.

She hissed as he filled her to the hilt. "Go slow," she demanded. "Be easy."

"Shh...we have all the time in the world," he said and covered her mouth with his. He took her slowly, their bodies entwined and David was certain he had made the right decision, coming back to her house. They were already closer to normal than they were yesterday.

"Do you smell that?" Erin asked, her eyes wide with desire and a touch of fear.

"What?" He gasped, closing in on the precipice of orgasm when her walls began to tremble around him. He shifted against her, the heat between them had built to an inferno level. Both their bodies prickled with goosebumps and shiny with sweat.

"Hurry," Erin gasped as the coil inside her twisted tighter and tighter until she was sure she would explode. "We need to hurry-To the right-" she instructed him.

"Take me out to the ballgame- Take me out to the crowd…" he whispered, when he began dropping off the edge. "Buy me some peanuts...and cracker jacks…"

"Not your right, my right!" She said, through gritted teeth. "Stop singing! I said we need to hurry!"

David shifted once, "I don't care if we never go back…" but it was no use…. baseball could only take a man so far.

"Something's BURNING!" Erin shrieked, arching off the carpet, tumbling faster and faster down the orgasmic rabbit hole.

His eyes popped open, "you're burning?" He snapped, horrified.

"Not me!" She groaned, before he could pull out. Just then the smoke detector sounded and the pair collapsed together in ecstasy.

"What the hell did we do?" Dave yanked the cord of the toaster oven out of the wall. Thick black smoke permeated the kitchen. "I can't tell if this is charcoal or toast." He lifted the toast off the tray and knocked it on the countertop. Crumbs of black soot landed on the linoleum tile floor.

Erin threw open the French doors with a towel in her hand, fanning the smoke out the door.

"This is what happens when we have too much fun," she said. The burnt smell was nauseating. "The next time we do this, I'm outsourcing." She said, doing her best to direct the smoke outside. "I want room service and someone else can clean up the mess."

"I can handle that, as long as I'm not the one being out-sourced," he quipped.

"Deal."

He dropped the entire toaster oven in the garbage can. "I'll buy you a new one of these," he said and kicked the side of the can for good measure.

She didn't have much shame, leaving the doors and windows open. If anyone were looking, they would see that Erin and Dave were fully dressed. He even put his jeans back on but his belt hung on the coat rack with his sport coat. Still, she wanted to chase the smoke out, then lock the doors again. There was still an Unsub at large and she was the primary target.

"Maybe this means we both suck at multitasking," Dave said, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

"Speak for yourself," she scoffed. Then went quiet, she felt him breath against her and her heart rate slowed to match the pace of his. The two of them stood in the doorway watching the squirrels, dart from one tree to another. Drought, dried leaves rattled on their branches as the calming spring air drifted into the house, it was a rare peaceful moment snuffed out all too soon.

"Let's close these," Dave suggested, breaking the moment. He dropped his arms away from her shoulders and pulled her into the house. "I forgot where we were, for a minute."

Erin cleared her throat, "I did too." She closed the doors and turned the deadbolt. "I know…" she cleared her throat, "David I know we learn more about the unsub with each victim, but what happens now? Do we wait around for something to happen?"

"That, M'Dear, is the million-dollar question," he said and pulled her into a hug.

She tightened her hold on him and let out a breath, "I thought you might say that."

Dave went back to the kitchen and turned on the stove, "I'm starving!" He complained. When the bacon grease started to sizzle, he added the potatoes to the pan. Erin sat at the counter, watching him and snacking on the fruit tray while he sautéed the potatoes in the bacon grease and crumbled the bacon to add to the eggs.

"Something's bugging me," she finally said and plucked a strawberry from the tray. "It's probably better to get it out now," she said as he pulled the pan off the stove and flipped the potatoes, like a classically trained chef.

"What is it?" He sat the pan down and whisked some cream into the bowl of eggs.

"We don't have any physical evidence that points to Blake, even the poison on the plant was different from The Replicator. How do we know the two are connected?"

"We don't," Dave agreed, "But I think they are. What are the odds that you pissed off two separate people that are targeting you around the same time?"

She fixed him with a look, "very slim, I hope."

"We'll get her, Erin. I promise." He said, "I'll make the arrest myself, but for now, we're going to enjoy the time we have together."

"We're in a weird situation," she said trying to remain neutral. If she said what he was thinking, she had a better shot at steering the conversation where she wanted it. "Hell, I never thought...well…" She crossed her arms over her chest, defensively. "I didn't plan on this baby."

"Neither did I," he admitted. "It's weird." He cleared his throat awkwardly, "You weren't small-" shit. That wasn't what he meant, he needed to tread lightly. "I mean, when you were pregnant with your kids. You looked pregnant and Erin, I just saw you naked and if I didn't know better..." He stopped talking abruptly, he was getting nowhere except a one-way ticket back to his own house. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.

"I can't tell if that's a compliment," Erin said dryly and picked up an apple slice.

"It's confusing as all hell, that's what it is!" He said, louder and more passionate than he intended. When she was wearing clothes, she looked normal, the baby bump was easily concealed by looser shirts and cardigans.

Erin rolled her eyes, unfazed by his outburst. "Forgive me for taking better care of myself." She sighed and said, "I gained a lot of weight last year." She never realized how fattening alcohol was, until it was obvious on her body. "After I got sober, I went to the gym while the kids were in bed, now it's a habit." It was her time to reset, it was something she could do for herself. She did other things too, that David didn't need to know about...there was nothing wrong with healthy forms of self-flagellation.

His eyes widened in surprise, "you never told me that," He poured the egg mixture into a pie pan, added the potatoes, bacon, spinach and cheese and took it to the oven.

"You never asked," she responded.

"So, all those times with me…" he let the thought trail off, "did you hurry off to the gym right after?" Erin going to the gym answered questions that he hadn't thought to ask...every time he took her out to dinner, she always ordered the same thing. Grilled salmon, a salad with dressing on the side and lemon water. No bread, no desert. The hair on the back of his neck rose to attention, letting him know something hinky was going on. How long had Erin been cutting calories and why? What effects did that have on their child?

"Come on, David, don't let your ego get in the way. "You and I burned enough calories in your bed to make up for a missed workout."

"That's good to know, I guess."

When Erin didn't say anything else, he went around the counter and pulled up a stool next to hers.

"What else did I miss?" He asked and lifted her hand from the marble countertop, if the conversation went south, he didn't want to get popped.

She shook her head, "your turn."

"Nuh huh," he shook his head. "We're not finished talking about you."

"Ooh, yes we are." She pulled her hand from underneath his and patted it. Then she slid off the stool and went back to the living room. "Don't you have a treadmill in your basement?" She asked, from the couch. The open floorplan allowed them to carry on a conversation. The flat screen TV flashed as Erin flipped through the channels.

"I do," he responded, keeping his tone neutral. "It's purely decorative." He added, then changed the subject. "Are you hungry?" He filled two mugs with coffee and brought them to the sofa. Then turned and grabbed the fruit tray.

"Almost never," she said, giving him more information than he needed. Tracking down Curtis had been her mission for the past year, finding his accomplice took precedence over everything and the stress destroyed her appetite.

"I cooked; you made the coffee. The next step," he plucked a strawberry out of the container and bit into it with a flourish. "Is enjoying the food, or...did you forget how breakfast dates work?" He asked, sitting the fruit down in front of her.

"What do you mean by that?" Erin asked, lifting her mug to her lips. "Last I checked, this-" she lifted a slice of apple to her lips and bit it. "Is eating."

"I guess you're right," he relented, "but I wouldn't complain if you added some protein in there somewhere." He said, sliding his arm around her. Even most of the sesame chicken they'd ordered ended up in the trash.

"You worry too much," she said, with her head on his shoulder.

"I think I have a good reason to worry," he said, pulling away from her. "On my count, over the last three days you've eaten; one smoothie, a small plate of sesame chicken, pretzels and dip and a handful of fruit." He stared at her, "Unless there's a meal I didn't know about-that's not enough calories to get a bird off the ground."

"I said, I'm fine-" she snapped, her voice rising. "Stop worrying and mind your own business." Who was he to keep tabs on her food intake?

"You're starving my kid-" He slapped his hand over his mouth. "Erin I'm sorry-I'm so sorry," but it was too late. The damage was done and the expression on her face confirmed it.

"Why would you say that to me?" She asked, equal parts hurt and horrified, glaring at him with tears in her eyes that she wouldn't let fall. The David Rossi she knew would never have said something so hurtful. "Who the hell are you?"

"Erin- swear I didn't mean it-you're a wonderful mother." He assured her and reached for her hand. "I just think-" he stopped abruptly, there was no fixing this.

"Go on," Erin stood up and spread her hands wide. "Tell me what you think. What is it that you have to say?"

"I think, because you're pregnant and you need more calories, that's all I'm trying to say."

"Oh, you don't think I know that? If I could eat, I would."

"I hadn't thought about that," he winced internally. "Are you nauseous?" He didn't have the answers, but he could try and find them. "Are you sick? There are things we can do- acupuncture, medicine-"

"I'm not sick." She said flatly, but telling him the truth wouldn't do any good. The majority of people eat more when they are stressed, not less. David would never believe her and if he did, he wouldn't understand. Still, the way he looked at her, open and eager to help...if he didn't understand, she knew he wouldn't judge her.

"Then what is it?" He pushed, squeezing her hands. "Tell me." He insisted, his voice rising in pitch. She was never this closed off with him, "Talk to me, Bella."

With that, the dam broke. David wanted to see her weak, he wanted to watch her break down and she was tired of being strong. "The Fucking Replicator-" she said, running her hands through her hair, her face contorted in a mask of rage as she stalked through the living room. "No. Screw that, I'm not going to glorify him anymore with that stupid nickname. John Curtis scares the hell out of me, he's a murderer and his accomplice is right under our noses. I can't eat, I can't sleep- I didn't want you to come over last night because I barricaded myself inside this house!" She screamed, purging all the fear and rage that built up inside her chest.

"I'm sorry," he said, but he was sure she didn't hear him. "I didn't know. I should have realized…" He was so focused on cracking the case and catching the person stalking his team, that he didn't stop to consider how the investigation affected her. She wasn't in the field, but she covered their asses with Director Fickler and kept them covered when The Brass wanted to take them off the case. She had a hunch about The Replicator's identity long before the team did...and put herself in the line of fire. "Erin, I'm so sorry."

"You didn't cause this. He's turned me into something that I never wanted to be. I can't sleep, I'm afraid of my own shadow, my God, David I hit you." She said sitting down beside him. She reached up to touch his cheek, where she had slapped him the day she came home from the hospital. He wasn't even angry; he cooked dinner and washed the baby clothes from the garage. It was clear she didn't deserve him.

"Come here," he pulled her close and she shifted so she was straddling his lap to look him in the eye. His eyes were kind as she stared at him. He was more patient than she could ever be, he kept her on her toes, and they knew how to push each other's buttons. He wasn't perfect, but he was good. He pushed her to be a better person...and she hurt him. She kept hurting him. "I hit you…" she repeated, gently stroking his freshly shaved cheek with the back of her hand. "I didn't mean to," She whispered against the lump in her throat. "You didn't deserve it. All you did was touch my hand…"

"You know…" His eyes sparkled as if he was slightly amused, "I've been slapped before, Erin. There's a reason I've had three wives."

"Not by me," she insisted. No matter what the water cooler gossip said, she never hit him before. At this point, no one blamed her more than she blamed herself.

"I forgive you," he whispered, reaching up to brush the tears from her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. "It's okay," he said, drinking in her gaze. Her beautiful face stared back at him, he burned her face into his memory, the soft, pensive expression, her eyes glistening with unshed tears mascara dripping down her cheeks. There was a time when he thought he would never be able to look into her eyes again. He cradled her cheek in his hand. "I forgave you the minute it happened and forgot about it until you mentioned it."

"Why is that so easy for you?" She asked, shakily and pressed her forehead against his, their breath mingling in the atmosphere.

"Because you're you…" he gave a horse whisper, knitting his brows together. "Curtis didn't take you from me." He drew her closer to him, his breath caught in his chest. "You're the same person-" He flipped her hair over her shoulder and held her face between his hands, tracing the outline of her lips with his thumbs. His gaze flicked downward. "You're still you." He said and gently brushed his lips against hers. She moved to deepen the kiss, she loved kissing him. If kissing David Rossi was an Olympic sport, she was sure to take home the gold every time. Flames of attraction flickered under her skin, his hands circled her back, pawing at her shirt.

Just then, the timer beeped and Dave pulled back, to catch his breath. They were both flushed and oxygen deprived. He pulled her into a hug, "are you hungry?" He gasped, enjoying the feeling of their hearts beating in tandem.

"Sure." She said, without moving.

"Okay, let me up." He said, but his words betrayed his actions. He didn't move, he was enjoying the quiet moment, letting their breathing level out.

"Better hurry," she slid off his lap onto the couch and quipped "I like that pie plate more than the toaster oven."

"Be right back," he promised, getting off the sofa.

He brought the pie pan to the kitchen table to cool and turned off the oven. "Bella…" he called, slicing into the frittata. When she didn't answer, he tried again. "Hey, Beautiful?" He slid two pieces of the pie onto a plate, grabbed two forks and brought it to the coffee table. She had grabbed the blanket off the back of the sofa and thrown it across her lap, clearly, she was ignoring him.

"You heard my secrets," she said and patted the seat beside her. Now, it's your turn."

"My turn?" He repeated.

From the determined look on her face, he wasn't going to be able to worm his way out of this conversation.

"Yes." She picked up her fork and speared a bite of the eggs without another word.

"Can you be a little more specific?" He asked, sitting beside her. "What do you think I'm holding back?" He asked, then he stood up and got a second plate of frittata. He was happy to see Erin working through her slice and his too. He got his plate and sat beside her again, "Let's cut to the chase here and you tell me what you want to know."

She took a sip of her coffee to buy herself some time. "Never mind," She said, smiling up at him, but it didn't meet her eyes.

"Okay," he said easily and pushed his empty plate away. "Come here," he said, pulling her close to him.

"What's got into you?" She asked, against his chest. "You've never been this affectionate."

"Are you complaining?"

"Of course not."

"I think we could both use a little TLC," he explained, running his hand down her back, enjoying the closeness, her chest rose and fell against his in a gentle rhythm. "I'm just…" he paused, weighing his words carefully. "Appreciating what I have." He said, flipping through the channels on the television, curled up on a sofa, next to someone he cared about. He sat back and listened to the sounds of the neighborhood; someone mowing their lawn, dogs barking, the shrill laughter of children playing down the street, just the way it should be.

Erin gazed up, through her lashes, studying him. His jaw was slack as he casually flipped through the 200 channels on the TV. "Hey?" She murmured.

"Hmm?" He grunted; his hand rested against her back.

She grabbed his arm and guided his hand to her abdomen. "Feel."

He stiffened slightly, let out a breath, flexed his knuckles and laid his hand in his lap. "Not right now," he said, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Okay." Erin said, but her eyes stung with tears. "Is this how it's going to be?" She choked out the last word.

He cleared his throat, the back of his neck prickled. "It's the best I can do."

"He's your son-" she protested, where was his fatherly pride?

"I know," he said rubbing the back of his neck. The words he wanted to say, lingered on the tip of his tongue, but it wouldn't do any good to say them.

She sat up to look him in the eye, "then talk to me." She said, gently, "tell me what's bothering you."

He blew out a breath, "you won't like it."

"Try me." She sat up, and pulled away from him, giving him her full attention.

From the look on her face, Dave knew it was now or never. Sink or swim, he saw something, it was time to say something. "How do we know-" he rasped, his throat rivaling the Sahara, "Erin, how do we-" he cleared his throat and tried again, "what if he's-" he stopped speaking abruptly. "Dammit!" He fumed, balling his fists. "I can look serial killers in the eye and not blink, but one serious conversation with you and I can't think straight."

"David, please…" she stood up and perched on the coffee table in front of him. "Talk to me." She covered his fist with her hand, tracing his knuckles, letting the pad of her thumb graze across the band of his FBI memorial ring. They sat in silence for a long time, while Billy Mays droned on about a pillow from the TV in the background.

Dave exhaled and squared his shoulders and unclenched his fists to hold her hands. She would understand...if he gave her the chance.

Finally, Dave looked up, tearing his gaze away from their hands intertwined. "What if we're wrong?" He said, squeezing her fingers. "What if he's-" he stopped again; he couldn't say it. If he said it out loud, he might sway whatever deity was in charge at the moment and they couldn't afford to tip the scales. "What happens if the baby is-"

Erin blew out a breath, tightening her hold on his hands. "You're worried," she surmised. "You're worried he's sick or that he won't make it."

He released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Very. Erin, I'm so sorry, I can't believe I did this to you." He blurted out, he had already lost a child, that was a pain he didn't want to experience again, that was pain Erin had never known and he would give anything to protect her from. Childbirth was tough enough, in your 20s, in your 40s it was survival of the fittest. Between Curtis's poison and the stress of hunting him down, who could tell how 'fit' Erin really was? He was certain that losing her would break him. "I wish I'd worn a glove," He admitted, solemnly. "I could have saved us both from the pain and heartache."

"Dave," she gasped, her eyes wide. "How can you look me in the eyes and say that?" She asked, with her heart in her throat. "My son doesn't cause me heartache, but you just did," she snapped, and dropped his hands. Her knees cracked as she stood up from the coffee table, stalking to the pantry.

"What are you doing?" Dave asked, following her to the kitchen. "Erin-I'm sorry, I just-" There was nothing he could say to make it better. "I just wish we were younger-"

She yanked open the pantry door and snatched a box off the shelf, ignoring him. She turned around to face him, with the box tucked under her arm. "I know you and Carolyn suffered, David. I know." She choked, the lump in her throat began to dissolve, her eyes welled up with tears. "I'd give anything to take that pain from you, David, but my son is important too. He's on his way and he needs you." She squared her shoulders, staring him down, with a thud, the cardboard box landed on the tile floor at David's feet. "If you can't be his father, then I need you to pack your things and go. He needs a nice place to sleep and your stuff is in my way."

"Erin-" he kicked the box aside, it slid across the tile and landed against the wall. "I'm doing the best I can-"

"No, you're not." She argued, shaking her head. "You're not doing anything. You say you want him-want me," she amended. "But you won't even try to connect with him."

"I can't-"

"Just tell me," She crossed her arms, her chin jutting out. She bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying. "What happens to my baby, when The Bureau closes the case and Blake sinks her hooks into me?"

"What? That's not about to happen-" he argued. He would move Heaven and Earth to protect her.

"You don't know that, tell me David. What happens to my baby? Peter will take my other children, but what happens to my son when I'm dead?"

Dave stared at her, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, his carotid hammered in his neck. "Erin-" The way she said, 'my son,' instead of 'their son,' cut through him like a knife. "He's my son too!"

"Then answer me!" She hissed; her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Tell me what happens to him when I'm dead, because I don't have the slightest clue."

"I would-" he cleared his throat "I could-" he was grasping at straws, but the solution wouldn't come.

"No!" She held her hand up, "don't say you would take him. You don't want him, remember? Social services?" She snapped, she was on a roll, her worst fears were steam rolling through her relationship with David, and she couldn't care less. "Is your son going to a foster home, because I pissed off a psychopath over a decade ago?"

"Come on Erin, that's not fair." He said, practically begging her to read between the lines. "Don't do this to us."

"You did this," she hissed, stalking towards him until they were nose to nose. "I didn't ask you for anything, all I wanted was for you to acknowledge him. Not just in your head, but in your heart. All I needed was a little bit of reassurance that he would have at least one parent alive to raise him."

"I'm still here," he argued.

"Which means nothing now, since you don't want him. Now get out so I can figure out a backup plan."

"No!" He fired back, "I'm not going anywhere." He planted his feet on the floor, "I took an oath to protect and serve. I'm not going to back out of that, just because you're mad at me."

"Fine!" She snatched the box off the floor and shoved it into his abdomen. "Then go upstairs, where I can't see you."

"Your wish, is my command," he snarled, took the box in his hands and dropped it at her feet, before stalking towards the staircase.

Erin snatched her phone off the marble countertop and went outside, slamming the French doors behind her.

She inhaled a shaky breath and sank into the wrought iron chair, birds chirped and the wind blew just enough to create a chill in the air, while the sun made its way behind the trees. Streaking the sky in pink and orange tones. Erin crossed her arms, rubbing the skin to chase away the goosebumps. She closed her eyes, but the tears leaked out anyway, she knew better. She and David had never talked about children, but she should have known he didn't intend to be a father. If fatherhood was something he desired, he would have made it happen before now. She put all of her eggs in one basket, then the handle broke. Her baby would be left alone, unless David changed his mind.

---

Dave sat in his recliner, with his head in his hands. His shoulders slumped with the weight of a man who had just lost everything he cared about. Erin knew he lost a baby with his first wife, but she didn't know how. James' death was a secret he would take to his grave, he'd spend the rest of his life atoning for it.

---

Erin flicked the lighter in her hand, watching the flame waiver in the sudden darkness. Her elbows were propped on the wrought iron patio table. The sound of the cicadas was her only comfort. She released the hammer on the lighter, watching the flame disappear. She wanted a smoke...a glass of wine...anything to take the edge off. Her phone sat beside her, but there was no one to call. She had no answers. No solutions, but the problems kept piling up. She tossed the lighter aside and laid her cheek against the cool table. She jumped, when her phone vibrated from its place on the table.

She slid the screen, her son's face greeted her. "Paul!" She said, smiling.

"Hi Mom," his voice cracking, proof he was in the throes of puberty. He gave a little wave. "You okay?"

"Of course, I'm okay," she lied and forced a smile. "I'm glad to see you."

Paul paled, taking in his mother's appearance and the way her voice wavered when she spoke. "Daad!" He called, holding out the I-pad for his father. Erin watched the ceiling fan in her former living room, spin.

"Paul, what's wrong?" Erin asked, but her son ignored her. "What are you doing?"

"What is it?" Peter asked, taking the tablet.

"Mom's crying," Paul whispered, as if Erin couldn't hear.

"Uh." Peter stared at his son, apparently the fifteen-year-old forgot his parents were divorced. "Ookay…"

"You gotta talk to her, Dad." Paul gave an eager nod.

"Uh...yeah, sure."

Peter moved into his study, still keeping the tablet pointed to the ceiling, Erin recognized the room because it was the only room in the whole house that still had a popcorn ceiling.

"What's going on?" He finally asked, when the door was closed. His face came on the screen, his dark hair and scruffy beard were the first things she noticed. He hadn't let himself go, the way she thought he would.

"Nothing." She denied, "I'm fine," she swallowed hard. "Put Paul back on."

"You know he doesn't like it when you cry-" Peter closed the door behind him and sat down at his desk.

"I'm not crying-" She argued, swiping a hand under her eyes. "Put the girls on."

"You look like your cat died," he said, resting the tablet against the lamp on the desk. He leaned in close, his entire face filled her screen.

"Gee thanks." Erin scoffed, "you always knew how to make me feel better. Now I remember why we got divorced."

He eyed her, from the screen of the I-pad. Her bloodshot eyes stared back at him. Erin never cried, unless...no... Vera would have said something. "Are you sick?" He finally asked.

"No. Why?" She shot back, looking over his shoulder to the shelf behind him. He kept their family photos in his office, with Erin's face front and center. "Do I look sick?"

He cleared his throat, then spoke softly. "Then how pregnant are you?"

"Why would you ask me that?" She hissed, "in case you missed it, there's a murderer stalking me. I'm allowed to be a little emotional!"

"Anyone would be," he agreed. "But I think there's more to it. After fourteen years of marriage and three years of dating, I think I know you better than you think I do." With seventeen combined years under their belts, he'd only seen her cry a handful of times. Each time she was either pregnant or she was violently ill.

Erin kept her gaze trained on the photos behind him, which ones did he keep and why was she featured in so many of them? Her eyes landed on the silver framed photograph, portraying the smiling faces of a much younger Peter and bigger Erin. Cassie stood in front of her parents with her hand on Erin's abdomen. Peter's hand covered their daughters. They had that photo taken, after they learned they were having a boy, bright smiles all around.

Everything was different now…. Why didn't David look at her the way Peter did in the photo? "Why did you keep that?" She asked, blinking back fresh tears.

"Which one?" Peter asked, looking over his shoulder.

"The silver frame, to your left."

"Oh." He snatched the frame off the shelf to look at it. "Um...because we were happy."

---

Dave paced the floor of his room. He refused to be reduced to a cardboard box in the corner of Erin's house. Not when he didn't have to be. He should have kept his mouth shut, more importantly, he should have been honest with her. Maybe, if he had told her about James and admitted what he did before his son was born, they wouldn't be in this mess. He had no one but himself to blame, he shouldn't have lied to her. Or said, he regretted their baby, that wasn't true, but it was better than Erin believing he was a murderer.

"You don't look happy," Peter said, keeping his voice low. He didn't want the kids to overhear.

"I'm not unhappy." Erin argued, "But there's a lunatic trying to kill me and I don't know what's going to happen to my baby if she succeeds-" Erin slapped her hand over her mouth, blush stained her cheeks and crept down her neck.

A smirk pulled at the corner of Peter's mouth. "Called it."

"Would you shut up and keep your voice down. The only person in your house who knows, is my mother!"

"Mums the word." Peter pretended to zip his lips closed, "But what the hell are you going to do?" Surely, she had some kind of a plan...just in case the unthinkable happened. "What's your plan now?"

"Worst case scenario," Erin blew out a breath, in an effort to clear her head. " I guess he goes to my mother, upstate." That was the best she could come up with, but who knew if Vera would want to take him? She could talk to her father, but he lived alone and a little boy needed a maternal figure.

Peter stared at her, with a wrinkle in his forehead, the way he did when he was deep in thought. "Away from his siblings? That's not fair to anyone."

"What choice do I have?" She exploded, the wrought iron chair scraped against the wooden deck, she grabbed her phone and glared at him. "There's no one else!" She was an only child; she wasn't close to any of her cousins...her mother was the only option. Vera would make an effort to travel to Virginia, but her company was in New York and she would never leave it.

"Make up with his father and if that doesn't work out…" Peter swallowed, what the hell was he about to do? The chair beneath him began to sway, the back of his neck prickled…she was his ex-wife, the mother of his children...she was his best friend for over a decade. How could he leave her high and dry now? " Erin...your son has a home with his siblings if he needs it-but I'd prefer not to keep this end of the deal, swear to me, that you're going to live."

"I can't ask you to do that-" she protested, "Peter that's not fair to you." How could she expect him to raise another man's child? Their divorce wasn't as brutal as it could have been, but it hurt all the same...why would he even offer? "Peter, that's too much."

He cut her off, "Erin, You didn't ask me for anything. Now go back in there and figure out how to get along with Rossi."

Dave went downstairs, the French doors to the deck were closed, he watched Erin pace the length of the deck. His hand reached for the doorknob, but he wasn't prepared for another round of arguing. He drew back and clenched his fist. God, he couldn't stand fighting with was a lie and he knew it. The truth was, he wasn't ready to admit to her exactly what he was. He reached for the brass knob again, his hand trembling. He pulled the door open, a swarm of mosquitoes greeted him, this was shaping up to be a terrible night, indeed.

"Erin." He waited for her to turn around. "We need to talk."

"No, we don't." She planted her hands on her hips, dismissing him without concentrating on the paint on the house, behind him. "You said all you needed to say-"

"And I lied!" He took a few steps closer to her, but his feet were made of lead.

She looked at him, her eyes were as wide as saucers. "What? David, why would you do that? What are you talking about?"

"You know that my son died, but you don't know why. It was better for you to believe a lie than to know the truth-I killed my son. James died because of me."

She pulled out a chair and sat down, without looking away from him. "No, you didn't-" she said in disbelief.

"I did." He nodded, full of remorse, his eyes wet with tears. "I killed my boy and I couldn't tell you."

"Tell me what happened and let me decide for myself."

"Erin-" he protested. "I don't want you to see me like that-"

"No." She stared at him, "tell me the truth, David. Get this off your chest and let me decide how I see you."

He gave a heavy sigh and took the seat beside her. "It was April 1979, hot as hell, even at 9am. Carolyn and I lived in my parent's basement for the first 2 years of our marriage. We had a fight when the A/C quit working and the dryer gave out at the same time.

Flashback

"Carolyn," Dave reached his hand into the washing machine. All five of his good, work shirts were sopping wet. "I need a shirt."

"I know, sorry!" Carolyn threw him a t-shirt from their bedside hamper and a smile. "It's a good thing it's Friday."

"I need a good shirt!" He complained, "Gideon and I are going to ask for a jet today! I need to look like I know what I'm talking about!" He threw the shirts in a nearby laundry basket and slammed the machine closed.

"Maybe, instead of asking for a jet, you could ask for a raise," She said, flipping the switch on the box fan in the corner. "Then you could have appliances that work and a room for the baby." In three months or less, they were going to be parents and right now, Carolyn and David could barely handle each other. They'd been at each other's throat's for weeks, now it was all coming to a head.

Dave yanked his sweaty wife beater over his head and pulled on the t-shirt. "Turn that thing off, all it does is blow around the dust." He yanked the cord out of the wall.

"If you're so pissed off about a shirt, you should have put the clothes on the clothesline, like your mother suggested, before your consistently terrible mood ran them off to Staten Island!"

"You do it!" He threw back at her, without looking her in the eye. "I didn't run my parents off, Uncle Sal invited them!"

They were the only couple in the world who could have two separate arguments at the same time.

"That's what they told you to avoid pissing you off! I can't put your clothes on the line because I have to go to class!" She said, shoving her college textbooks into her backpack, "I'll be home late-"

"Not later than me!" David picked up his briefcase from beside the door and walked out, the glass on the screen door rattled in his wake.

Later that evening, David was on cloud nine. He and Jason were in line for a jet. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of his father's 1960 Impala. He was on the better side of history today; he and Jason were one step closer to their dreams...running an entire unit in the FBI. He turned into the driveway in front of his parent's house and turned off the car. Grabbed his briefcase from the backseat, then made his way to the basement entrance of the house. Whistling the whole way.

He took one step down the concrete staircase, then looked down. His heart leapt to his throat. "Carolyn!" He screamed her name, but his wife didn't move. She was sprawled out, face down, surrounded by clothes. A puddle of blood pooled underneath her. An overturned laundry basket sat at the bottom of the staircase. He rushed down the stairs, careful to avoid, stepping on her or tripping over the clothes. His shirts, he realized, laid at her feet. "Carolyn!" He touched her back but she still didn't move. It was only the faint rise and fall of her body that told him she was alive. He raced inside the apartment and grabbed the phone off the wall in the bedroom, stretching the forty-foot cord as far as it would go. He ran through the apartment, phone in hand and dialed 911. It seemed to take hours for the operator to come on the line.

He sat down at the edge of the doorway, as close to Carolyn as the cord on the phone would allow, and reached for her hand. "This is David Rossi with the FBI. I need an ambulance, right now!"

"For a minute," Dave cleared his throat. "I thought we had some hope. The doctor said my son would have some brain damage because he was so premature but he could live. By the time she got help, it was too late. James lived for about six hours and died in his mother's arms." He swiped his hand across his face and swallowed the lump in his throat. "I don't know how long she laid there. The coroner couldn't give us a straight answer...there's a chance that he was sick from the start."

"I don't understand," Erin looked up at him, with tears in her eyes. At some point in the story, she grabbed his hand and hadn't let go. "I'm missing the part that makes you a murderer."

"I'm Catholic," he looked down at their hands, her small hand on top of his larger one. "Life begins at conception and if I hadn't been such a hothead, it wouldn't have happened. Later on, after she died, I did some research, ALS can develop after a head trauma. It's rare, but she hit her head on the stairs…."

"Oh, my love...you're looking for ways to blame yourself," Erin said gently.

"Because nothing else explains it."

"Well." She stood up and hugged him from behind. "You don't get a murder rap just for being an asshole." She kissed his cheek, "don't give yourself that much power. Had you pushed her down the stairs, it would be your fault, but she fell. She tripped and fell, that's an accident and it's not your fault." She said, rubbing his shoulders.

"Erin…" he said her name, like a term of endearment. "I'm sorry, I said all of those things, I just…" he let the sentence trail off, leaning his head back, relieved. The air was clear between them and he was as close to relaxed as he could be, while she ran her fingers through his hair. "The shame was too much." He reached up and locked his hand around hers. Please, Erin, believe me when I tell you I want this baby. He's my son and I don't want him going anywhere, except home with his parents."

"I'm relieved to hear you say that," she said, coming around to stand beside him. "Come on," she tugged at his hand. "Come inside." He wasn't the only one with secrets, it was time to come clean. "It's my turn to unload this is hard enough without becoming a late-night snack for an entire swarm of mosquitoes."

"I thought we talked about your...stuff." Dave said, standing up.

"Not everything…" she shook her head. "I held a Glock on an agent from my security detail."

"Erin-" Dave said her name, equal parts shocked and horrified. "Why would you do that?"

"He came up behind me at the range, I just...reacted. I don't know why I did it." She said, "truly, it was just reflex-"

"Lie to me and tell me it was loaded." At least then, she had a chance at defending herself or murdering the other agent. Neither option was a good one.

"It was reckless-" The chime of the doorbell interrupted her thought.

"Pause for the cause," Dave said and pecked her on the cheek on his way to answer the door.