Roads Less Traveled

"Fear not for the future, weep not for the past." ~Percy Bysshe Shelley

March 2013. Vienna, Virginia. (37 miles from Quantico, 16 miles from D.C.)

Erin entered her house, quickly punching in the alarm code on the key pad next to the door and effectively stopping the warning beeps that would turn into full-scale siren wails if not deactivated within thirty seconds. She'd installed the alarm system shortly after Paul had moved out, and for the first time in a very long time, she actually felt a pang of nostalgia for her ex-husband (her practical, well-worn, solid, dependable, comfortable husband who used to fit so perfectly into her world and her heart, who'd always been so easy to understand, so complacent and trusting and all the things she didn't deserve, not really, not ever, not now). She closed the door behind her, locking it and resetting the alarm before heading down the hallway and into the kitchen. The house was spacious, but not large, at least it hadn't seemed such when it was filled with three bouncing kids and a plethora of family pets, ranging from dogs to hamsters to cats to a bird and one ill-fated, short-lived turtle. It was painted with the Tuscan jewel-tones that one would expect to find in a ranch house on the west coast, filled with comfy over-stuffed furniture and well-chosen objets d'art that lived atop old books and among polished bronze pots of delicate orchids. It was Erin's home and yet she felt like a stranger in it at times, especially times like these, when the house was empty and the steady tick of the clock seemed to echo through every room.

Anna, her youngest and the only one still living at home, was staying with a friend for the night, so the house would belong solely to Erin until late afternoon the next day. Fifteen months ago, Erin would have relished the chance to be alone, so that she could curl up with some bourbon and simply stare at the ceiling, drinking until everything became a soft, warm haze, at which point she could stumble to the ground-floor master bedroom and fall into a deep sleep. However, the last year had wrought many changes, including the fact that Erin no longer had a drop of liquor in the house, and she'd found other ways to lull her body into sleep.

Dropping her briefcase into a kitchen chair with a heavy sigh, Erin discarded her heels, shedding her sweater as she padded into the master bedroom, which was just past the open living room, flipping on lights in her wake. The warm glow of the electric lights helped combat the dreary feel of the house, but Erin still felt an odd sadness rising in her spirit.

Sometimes being sober really sucked. Being sober meant being aware, and sometimes, Erin didn't want to be aware of her life or how it had turned into this mangled mess of lies and bad decisions held together by moments of warmth and goodness that she feared would be shattered if she tried to untangle the darker parts.

Despite her qualms, some parts were being untangled, slowly, gingerly, achingly, as she started down the path of making amends, holding her breath and hoping that she wouldn't somehow ruin the good simply by addressing the bad. Though none of it was particularly enjoyable, some reparations were easier to make than others. But of course, she was saving the hardest ones for last, praying that somehow all these previous little amends would build her up and prepare her for the bigger acts of atonement. A small voice deep inside told her that she would never be fully prepared, that those would be the ones that ripped apart the good, those would be the ones that required tearing down some of her fondest memories and her deepest relationships. It would be utter and absolute hell.

Another voice in her head reminded her that some amends could never be made. The ninth step was very clear on the fact that an amend should be made unless the act of confessing and making the amend would actually cause more damage. The things for which Erin needed to beg forgiveness were secrets, dark parts locked away from the rest of the world, and yet, she had an overwhelming need to lay them bare to the people whose lives had unwittingly been affected by these actions. She was fairly certain that these revelations would only leave pain and heartache in their wake, but Erin was self-aware enough to recognize the simple truth that those secrets had been largely responsible for the past several booze-soaked years of her life, because the mere burden of carrying these secrets alone had been too much, too stressful, too overwhelming, and the alcohol had pushed back those feelings of sheer terror and despair.

But now the alcohol was gone and the terror and despair remained. She didn't want to go back to the black-out nights and head-pounding mornings, the feeling of moving in slow motion through her own life. Which meant she only had one other option. The truth will set you free, right?

The family cat was curled up on the bed, not even flinching as Erin entered. She quickly changed into a pair of sweatpants and a tank before stretching across the comforter and pulling the feline into her chest. The cat stretched, blinked lazily, and burrowed closer to her as it purred in contentment. She absentmindedly stroked the silky fur as her mind wandered down roads of times past and moments best left forgotten.

September 1993. Seattle, Washington.

For the hundredth time, Erin Strauss made a mental note to get a carry-on bag with wheels. Her current bag, sans wheels, was slung over her shoulder, the thick leather straps pulling back and causing an uncomfortable strain on the muscles in her neck and chest. She was a light packer, but after hours spent in various planes, trains, and automobiles, the relatively light bag suddenly felt as if it weighed a ton.

Also for the hundredth time, she cursed her luck at drawing the short straw—the Seattle field office was in need of an analyst to run a seminar for the next few days, and Erin's number had come up again.

She knew what this trip was really about. Old Man O'Leary was leaving the Bureau, heading out to the greener pastures of retirement in just a few short weeks, and his position as SAC for the Washington D.C. field office would open up. Another agent, Mark Smith, would be tapped to take O'Leary's place, opening up his spot in Quantico's Violent Criminal Apprehension Program. Erin Strauss was on the short list; she'd proven herself in the White Collar and Organized Crime Divisions, and her skills as an analyst, coupled with the fact that she was currently earning a degree in Behavioral Psych (in addition to the two others degrees that she already held), made her a prime match for the team. This seminar would be a test of sorts—its main focus was using computers to compile and analyze data, which of course was an integral part of ViCAP.

Erin knew that she looked good on paper, and now this seminar assignment was the unofficial live-action portion of the vetting process, some kind of new hoop for her to jump through, but she didn't mind the challenge. She'd spent most of her life and all of her career proving herself; one more test really didn't change anything. Although she wished that it could have been something closer to home—her mind was constantly flashing back to her husband and her three-year-old daughter back in Virginia. This was the first time she'd been away from her baby for so long, and her mother-heart had ached at the thought of leaving Jordan behind.

Her hotel room was small but adequate. She plopped her bag down on the bed unceremoniously, her grey eyes scanning the room. Through the window, she could see the infamous Seattle rain, and she smiled at the thought that she'd sleep like a baby tonight—rain always had that effect on her, and coupled with the sheer exhaustion that always accompanied flying, it would ensure that Erin would have no trouble drifting off.

The Seattle field office wasn't expecting her until the next morning, so tonight was her chance to unwind and prepare for the fast-paced days ahead. She unzipped her bag, rummaging around until she found her running pants and her sports bra. A quick trip to the hotel gym would help her nervous mind.

She grabbed her FBI-issue pager and clipped it to the band of her pants, pulling an over-sized t-shirt over her head before scraping her blonde locks back into a pony tail. She willed herself not to look at her reflection, because she was certain that she looked like hell. Not that it mattered—it wasn't as if she would run into anyone that she knew, in a quiet hotel exercise room across the continent from her home and work.

Despite the cool drizzle outside, the gym was warm and humid. Luckily, there were only a few people in the room, and Erin quietly took over a treadmill in the corner (she always had a thing about being in the corner, in restaurants and meetings and gyms, because it meant that she could take in the whole room, could never be surprised by someone sneaking up on her).

She upped her pace after a few minutes, relishing the warmth in her worn muscles. Without missing a step, she removed the t-shirt and tossed it across the treadmill bars. There were only two people in the room now, a man and a woman, and they looked like gym rats, so it wasn't anything they hadn't seen before.

From the corner of her eye, she saw someone else enter the room, but she didn't really pay any attention to the newcomer. She increased speed again; her mind going to the place where only her breathing and the solid feel of her feet against the whirring black strip were her only focus. After a few moments, however, she became aware that whoever had entered the gym was still staring at her. She didn't actually look over at him, but her peripheral vision could make out that it was a man, and she fought back a wave of irritation. Can't I just go for a fucking run without being ogled by a complete stranger?

David Rossi walked into the now-familiar fitness center of his favorite Seattle hotel and felt as if he'd been slapped in the face. Like a scene from some masochistic macabre dream, Erin Strauss was bouncing along on a treadmill in the corner, and boy, was she bouncing. He hadn't seen her in almost four years now (not since right before she'd had the kid, he'd been transferred while she was still out on maternity leave), but motherhood had definitely been good for her—she'd gone up at least a cup size, although her purple running bra was valiantly trying to keep its charges in check, the increased size and weight were definitely noticeable.

He couldn't imagine why she would be here in this room, much less in this city, but he learned long ago never to question the gods of fate. It had only been a few years, and really, aside from the décolletage, she hadn't changed at all. Her face was still set in her perpetually stern expression, her hair was still light and her ass was still perfect.

She must have sensed his gaze, because her lips formed into a small snarl of irritation, although she didn't look over at him. Despite her anger, she wouldn't actually look in his direction—that was too confrontational, and Erin Strauss was one of the most passive-aggressive people he knew. She would use her peripheral vision, pretending as if she didn't even acknowledge his presence. David decided to use this to his advantage.

He sidled up to the neighboring treadmill, carefully keeping near the wall and as far out of Erin's direct line of sight as possible. If she actually looked at him and recognized him now, it would spoil the surprise. He fought back a grin of malicious glee, suddenly feeling like a child again, getting ready to pull a prank on some unsuspecting family member.

This angle also gave him a lovely view of her shoulders, muscles moving and rippling as her arms pumped in-time with her legs, her lower back now covered in a light sheen of sweat, the soaked dark-blonde tendrils plastered to the nape of her neck (he tried not to imagine these images in a different setting, tried but not really, and was quite alright with his failure).

He turned the dials on the treadmill, taking a moment to let the machine whirl to life before setting his feet on the moving strip. She had dropped her pace down again, catching her breath and cooling down a bit, and he quickly moved his upward, falling into cadence with her steps.

Erin wasn't sure what this creep's angle was (actually, she was quite sure, but she didn't even want to entertain that thought), so she studiously avoided his gaze, tried to retreat back to her own world but found that his scrutiny was too distracting. Now he was less than three feet away, matching her pace and looking at her with some kind of expectancy. Like running in sync was supposed to be some kind of metaphor for other rhythmic physical activities. Ugh.

So of course, she cranked up the speed.

David fought back another smile at this little challenge. Of course, he followed suit, quickly matching her again.

Erin gave an irritated huff and upped her pace again.

Thoroughly enjoying himself, David also increased his speed, taking a childish delight in knowing that the red stain across that pristinely carved face wasn't just from physical exertion, but from anger. Angry Erin was always fun to play with, except for when she became Really Angry Erin. But she hadn't reached that level yet.

She reached for the dial again.

"What are you trying to prove, Erin?"

That voice. That voice, heavy and seductive and amused and irritating and so indescribably Rossi.

Her blonde head whipped around, her mouth formed in a little O of shock as she truly looked at him for the first time, her grey eyes lighting up with recognition.

"David Rossi, what the hell are you doing here?" She had to slow the treadmill to keep from tripping over her own feet in surprise. He gratefully slowed pace as well.

"I could ask you the same thing." His eyes were dancing mischievously, so smug and proud of himself for catching her off-guard.

Her hand fluttered, gesturing off to the invisible, distant offices of the Seattle branch, "I'm teaching a seminar. Just flew in this evening."

"So you're vying for Mark Smith's old seat?" He guessed. There was a faint flush in Erin's cheeks that confirmed his question.

"I'd be a fool not to," she responded, turning her gaze back to the blank wall in front of her. "I've been trying to get into ViCAP since it was created. Besides, it doesn't jet around as much as Organized Crime does, so it's a better guarantee that I'll be home at a decent hour."

"Traveling can't be easy with a little one," he agreed.

She nodded, biting her bottom lip as she considered sharing this next piece of information with him. Against her better judgment, she did so, "Paul and I are thinking about trying for another, after the Christmas holidays. This position would be much more conducive to raising children."

"Still aiming for a boy?" David wasn't really surprised that Erin and her husband wanted more children. She'd always been the mothering type; he'd sensed that about her whenever they first worked together. She had always been good with kids, in that easy, effortless way that never seemed patronizing or overbearing.

She nodded again, a light smile on her lips, "You know how you men are. Eternally craving someone to carry on the family name."

He laughed at the quip, seeing the relieved smile on Erin's lips when she realized that he understood the joke as it was meant to be. They'd always been a bit uncertain around each other; their senses of humor weren't always aligned, and sometimes it created misunderstandings between them.

She slowed her pace down to a walk, taking a moment to give Rossi an appreciative once-over. "You look good, David."

His pulse quickened at the thought of what had happened the last time that she'd looked at him like that.

"You don't look too bad yourself, Erin." His eyes moved back to those lovely breasts, trying so hard to push out of their confinement. They were even more impressive up-close.

She could feel his eyes on her, but this time, it was a welcome feeling. David Rossi was an absolute wolf, but history had proven that she wasn't exactly an innocent little lamb, either.

Her mind went back to Paul, at home with Jordan. She couldn't do that to him, not again, not like the time in New York and the time in Philadelphia. Those times were different, things had been dark and sad between them, it was before Jordan, but now she and Paul were happy and planning their next big step as a family.

Of course, if she was honest with herself (which she rarely was these days), she would admit that they weren't happy, not entirely, not in the picture-perfect way they pretended to be. Paul wanted another child, and she wanted to give him another child, because he was kind and a good father to Jordan and he deserved this quiet American dream, not because she loved him and wanted to have another child with him. She loved her husband, but not in the way that she felt she should. Her love for Paul was some sort of honor-bound commitment, a duty (he was a good man and he sheltered her and he deserved her love, therefore she gave it to him), not the all-consuming thing that one read about in dime-store novels and sonnets of ages past. Then again, Erin Strauss didn't really think that she was capable of such love—it was a defective part of her, she supposed, something that simply couldn't be felt by her somehow damaged soul. Oh, she knew the deep, encompassing, life-consuming love of motherhood—she would die and kill for her daughter, she would move heaven and earth with her bare bleeding hands to spare her child from harm—but that, too, was a different sort of love.

"You still haven't told me why you're here," she reminded him, taking her discarded shirt and mopping the sweat from her face.

"Marriage number two is giving its death rattle. My wife is keeping the house," he answered easily. "I'm staying here until I can find a suitable apartment."

"Oh, David, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. I'm not." He gave a slight shrug of his shoulder, as if the situation was simply rolling off his back, but Erin knew him well enough to know that it was just a shield. She also knew that if David didn't want to talk about it, then she wasn't going to push it.

She simply changed the subject, and they continued catching up on each other's lives, slipping into an easy camaraderie that they'd developed after years of working together.

Once the workout was over, the two walked slowly back to the door together, both realizing that this little encounter was coming to a close and neither really ready to part ways.

Erin offered a warm smile, a deep one that set off her dimples and went all the way up to her eyes. "Well, David, it was great to see you."

"You, too, Erin," he opened his arms for a hug, and she eagerly obliged.

Of course, neither had thought about the fact that she wasn't wearing a shirt, and his hands wrapped around bare, moist flesh. She jumped back at the contact, and he took a certain delight in the fact that the deep flush across that beautifully freckled chest wasn't from her workout.

"Well, I, uh, it was nice seeing you," she tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear, her eyes focused on his chest, not his face.

"You've already said that," he couldn't help but be amused by how quickly she could devolve into a bumbling, shy little girl by something so small as his hands on her lower back. There was a twelve-year gap in their ages, but at times like this, it seemed like it was twenty.

"Yes. I have." She agreed, another flush staining her cheeks, which she quickly hid by pulling her t-shirt over her shoulders. David bit back a moan of disappointment as all that lovely skin disappeared beneath the dark cotton.

He opened the door with a flourish, motioning for her exit, "Ladies first."

"Bitches second." She purred, to which he grinned in response as he followed her out into the hallway.

"You don't fool me, you know," she didn't even turn to look at him as he caught up to her.

"I have no idea what you could possibly mean, Agent Strauss." His tone belied his words.

"You let me go first so that you could check out my ass." There wasn't any condemnation, just amusement.

David laughed, "I forgot how direct you can be."

"It's my most endearing quality," she deadpanned.

"Your ass disagrees."

It was her turn to laugh, a short, quick one that devolved into a simple hum. She simply shook her head.

"Dinner?" His voice was hopeful, but there was the slightest hint of uncertainty that Erin wasn't used to hearing.

She took a moment to look at him, the corner of her mouth quirking into a wry smile. She'd be lying if she said that her stomach hadn't flipped when he'd touched her skin, or that their light banter in the hall hadn't started a familiar warm tingling that almost always appeared when he was near.

It was a bad decision. It was always a bad decision whenever David Rossi was involved. And like she always did whenever David Rossi was involved, she simply ignored the little warning voice in her head.

"Sounds good."