Consequences

"While we are free to choose our actions, we are not free to choose the consequences of our actions." ~Stephen R. Covey

*Author's Note: WARNING: The section of this chapter entitled "Seattle, Washington" is RATED M.*

March 2013. Quantico, Virginia.

Oddly enough, it was the director himself who interrupted the clash of the titans—Erin was in mid-screech when the phone on Hotch's desk rang.

There was a moment as David and Erin simply stared at one another. The phone rang again.

"Are you gonna get that?" David asked, not breaking eye contact.

With one last venomous look, she turned and picked up the receiver, barely reigning in her anger enough to answer, "Aaron Hotchner's office."

There was a slight look of chagrin on her face whenever the other voice responded—from his position just a few feet away, David could hear a deep booming voice and he knew that it was the director.

"Yes, it's me...How did you—Oh, Carrington." She shot another dark look in David's direction. "I've just been handling an issue with one of my agents...No, no, that's quite alright. I can be there...Yes, sir."

She hung up, taking a deep breath and resetting her shoulders as she slowly recollected herself. She turned back to Rossi.

"I have to brief the director on the case in Midlands," she announced rather flatly, rearranging the folds of her wrap cardigan. She stared at him for a full beat before adding, "I won't mention your antics to him, because I expect this to be that last time that we ever have to discuss this."

"Erin, I'm not—"

She stepped forward suddenly, her face just inches from his, "David Rossi, if you get yourself killed, I swear I will bring you back to life just so that I can murder you with my own bare hands."

Though her voice was low, the vehemence in her tone was undeniable. David took a step back, shocked by her actions—that was probably the closest thing to a declaration of love that Erin Strauss had ever offered, and it was actually quite touching. His anger dissipated at the realization that for her, it wasn't about breaking protocol. It was something deeper than that.

"This scares you, doesn't it?" He asked softly, his dark eyes searching her light ones for some kind of admission.

At his softness, Erin felt her own righteous indignation break. Her breath hitched, as if she were holding back a sob as she whispered, "Of course it does, you idiot."

Somehow, she made the last word sound like an endearment. David also knew that it was no small feat for Erin to admit that she was scared—he reached out, his hands gently cupping the sides of her face, "It's gonna be OK, bella."

The warmth and the weight of his hands on her face were almost too much for Erin. She closed her eyes, tilting her head further into his caress, taking another skittering breath as she fought back the tears that now flooded her eyes.

"Please," she breathed, with all the reverence and desperation of a prayer. She didn't finish her request, but he understood.

"I won't, bella. I promise."

In the bullpen, the rest of the team was still watching, although Blake and Reid were both at least pretending to do paperwork.

"Is he...is he trying to strangle her?" Penelope Garcia's voice was filled with worry. She'd appeared several minutes earlier and had witnessed the worst of the brawl. From their vantage point, all they could see was Strauss' back turned towards them, Rossi's face over her shoulder as his arms extended to her neck.

"I don't think so," Hotch replied quietly.

Spencer looked up, squinting as he took in the scene, "His body language is too relaxed. And so is hers, for that matter."

"Oh," was Penelope's only reply, and everyone suddenly felt as if they were witnessing something that they shouldn't see. Blake and Reid hurriedly returned to their papers, Hotch walked over to the coffee pot, JJ and Penelope suddenly became engrossed in the contents of the folders in Penelope's hands. The only person who remained was Derek Morgan, who simply leaned back against his desk, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Strauss' shoulders relax, deflating like a balloon, as the smallest of smiles graced Rossi's lips.

"Huh." He gave a wry grin. "Who'd have thought it?"

It was 45 minutes later, in the middle of her briefing with the director, that Erin Strauss decided that she could not make amends to David Rossi—at least not now, not while the Replicator was still out there. His mind needed to be free from distraction, free from the angst that her revelation would certainly bring, and if that meant keeping her secret for a little while longer, then so be it.

Of course, she'd prefer to keep that secret for the rest of her life, if it wouldn't cause her so much grief. But again, she remembered that it was the reason that she was where she was now—a washed-up booze hound with a broken marriage and a psyche that would keep Freud entertained for centuries.

There was also the fact that things were so lovely and tender between them, and she knew that it would all be ripped away by her confession, and she dreaded the moment that she saw the truth in David's eyes—the moment she watched the spark die out and witnessed the complete annihilation of the things they had built together over 28 years of knowing and fighting and loving.

She tried to reign in her feelings, pulling herself back into the Ice Queen of Quantico armor that she'd crafted so many years ago, which she wore so well. So this might not last. So what? It wasn't the first time that she'd been faced with the possibility of losing David, and each time, she'd survived, because that's what she did—she endured. It was her greatest strength.

If this wasn't going to last, then she sure as hell was going to make it count for all that it was worth. Of course, she thought sadly, 'making it count for all it's worth' was what got her into this mess in the first place.

September 1993. Seattle, Washington.

If Erin Strauss were to create a diagram of how the past four days had spiraled into their current state, she would, of course, start with her first night in Seattle. Agreeing to go to dinner with David Rossi was a bad idea. However, agreeing to take him to dinner the following night to repay his kindness was an even worse error in judgment. Meeting him for farewell drinks the third night was a horrible, horrible lapse in sanity. Each night was filled with warm smiles and flirty comments and accidental brushes and soft moments and all the things that just danced along the edges of the unspoken boundary.

But none of it compared to the colossal leave of absence taken by her morals, judgment, and sanity that occurred directly after leaving the bar.

She wished that she could blame her actions on being drunk, but the truth was that she'd only had three drinks—enough to make her giggly and relaxed, but not enough to inhibit her judgment. David had only one, in toast to her, and had refrained from any more, since he was driving.

The cool night air greeted them as they left the bar. As they walked across the uneven pavement of the parking lot, Erin regaled him with a tale of some misadventure that had happened earlier that day—she had been in a fine mood all evening; they'd both laughed so hard that they cried over various old jokes and new stories—and David kept his hand gently on the small of her back, as if he feared she might fall.

He guided her to the passenger side, reaching forward to open the car door. She leaned back against the car, turning her face to the moon.

"I'm gonna miss this," she admitted softly, suddenly somber.

He followed her gaze up to the bright orb. "I'm pretty sure they have the exact same moon in D.C."

It was a joke, but she didn't laugh. She simply bit her bottom lip, shaking her head. "No, not the moon."

She gestured around forlornly, "This. You. Me. The laughs. All of it."

She turned her grey eyes back to him, and now he could see the glimmer of tears. "I'm not good at saying goodbye. I'm never good at things like that."

He gave a small nod of understanding—their last parting had been bearable because they'd never actually said farewell. She'd gone on maternity leave, while he was out in the field, but it was routine, something that had been discussed ahead of time, it was temporary. Then he was transferred, while she was still on leave, and he'd packed his things and disappeared. There had been no awkward hugs or let's-keep-in-touch or strange bonds of sudden kinship. It had been simple, clean, easy.

This was different. This was none of those things.

"Hey, bella," he cooed softly, reaching forward to cup her cheek, rubbing his thumb across the smooth, pale skin. "It's not the end of the world."

"I know," she sighed, frustrated with her own run-away emotions, rolling her eyes. "I'm just tipsy and overly emotional right now. It's stupid, this is what we do, I know, I just—"

"You don't have to apologize," he interrupted gently. "And you don't even have to explain. I know."

She looked at him, looked deep into those eyes that could swallow the whole world, and she knew that he truly did know. Placing his other hand on her opposite cheek, he gently pulled her forward, leaving a soft kiss on her forehead, a silent benediction for his forlorn angel.

Then he turned away, opening the passenger door and motioning for her to get in, "You've got an early flight in the morning."

She nodded, wordlessly climbing into the car, eyes fixed straight ahead as he closed the door and walked around to the other side.

The drive back to the hotel was short and quiet as each wondered what the other was thinking. They walked across the parking lot and through the double doors without so much as a single word. The sound of their footsteps disappeared once they stepped onto the heavy plush carpet in the lobby, and they moved in-sync to the elevator. They got in and David pushed the buttons for their respective floors.

"Thank you." Erin's voice was barely audible over the hum of the elevator as it slowly hoisted itself up the shaft.

"You're welcome," David responded, and he hoped that she could hear the sincerity behind his words.

"It's been…good," she gave a curt nod when she found the appropriate word to describe the past three days. "It's been really good, getting to catch up with you."

He could feel her pulling away, retreating back to her other life, her other self, the one in which he had no place or part. It actually felt colder in the elevator, as if she'd physically removed his source of heat.

"Yeah," he agreed softly, taking a moment to study her profile—she was staring at the ceiling, not making eye contact. "It was."

She bit her lip when the elevator chimed, stopping on her floor. The doors opened and she gave him another small smile, "Well, this is me."

"Safe travels, Erin." There were so many other things he wanted to say, but none of them were appropriate.

"Thanks," her smile deepened, but the sadness in her eyes was still there. "You take care, David."

He nodded and she exited the elevator, turning to wave goodbye as the doors closed.

That face. That sad, tragically beautiful face, with those beckoning eyes filled with unshed tears. That face was David Rossi's undoing.

He reached out his hand, stopping the doors just before they closed, causing them to lurch open again.

Erin stepped back, surprised by the sudden movement, but as he moved towards her, she pulled forward again, without even thinking, like a magnet being pulled to its mate. They simply embraced, not moving, not speaking for several beats.

He was just going to give her a farewell hug—at least that's what he told himself. He just wanted to say goodbye properly, the way you'd say it to a friend, to a close colleague (deep down, he knew that she'd somehow become much more than any of those things, though he'd never admit it, not to himself, not to her). Just one embrace and then he'd smile, wish her well, and get back on the damn elevator.

Things didn't go according to plan.

Her head was nestled in the crook of his neck; he could feel the soft gust of her breath on his skin. But after a few moments, he felt something else—something tiny, quick, almost furtive. Her lips, gently kissing his neck, the tiniest flutters of touches, something that seemed so natural and instinctually right that he wondered at first if she even realized that she was doing it.

Then she rolled forward on the balls of her feet, kissing the corner of his jaw, lightly nipping the skin with her teeth, kissing it again. Pulling back slightly, she nuzzled her nose along the line of his jaw, to his chin, her mouth reconnecting to his flesh at the pulse point at the top of his neck.

He did not move, did not speak, barely breathed as he let her administer these little tokens along his skin. Erin was a strange creature in moments like this—easily spooked, quick to pull back from the chase—and until her movements stopped their tentative pressure, he would not do anything that would frighten her away. What he really wanted to do was throw her against the nearest wall and return her kisses with deep, hot, passionate ones of his own, but doing so would jolt her back into reality and send her back to safety (away from him, away from them, away from this thing bubbling up inside of them) and he'd rather lose his right arm than let that happen.

Her teeth came out again as she moved further down his neck, pushing away his shirt collar. Her arms wove around him and her fingers pressed deep into the muscles beneath his shoulder blades, pulling him closer into her. She gave a soft whine of frustration, biting his neck again, salving it with her hot tongue, digging her nails into his skin.

There it was. The moment he'd been waiting for—she was no longer gentle and timid and hesitant, she was replaced by a being of teeth and talons and fire, now the die had been cast and things were beyond repair, set in stone, written by the hand of god, decided and set and sealed by fate.

Now David reacted, one hand automatically fisting itself deep in the nest of blonde tresses, the other pressing into the small of her back, pulling her hips into his as their lips finally met, clashing with such force that the heavens seemed to shake.

With a soft hmmm of satisfaction at the taste of his tongue, Erin's muscles suddenly melted into the delicious feeling of his body against hers, molding together in a way that was equally familiar and novel. They'd been here before, but every time was its own unique experience, and this one was no different in that respect.

She pulled away breathlessly, though the light dancing in her eyes told David that this was far from over. She stepped back, her eyes locked onto his, baiting him, taunting him, as she moved further away (come and catch me if you can). He advanced in fluid motion, though she countered by stepping to the side. His hand immediately went to her waist, checking her movement before she fully slipped away. This earned him another little hum from the blonde vixen standing in front of him, her thin lips curving into a smile as she stepped back again, her body retreating from his hand once more. Again, he stepped forward, his own grin deepening when her back hit the wall. He quickly placed his hands on the wall, on either side of her, hemming her in, and he was suddenly reminded of the fact that she was so much smaller than he was (because her attitude was so large and aggressive and dominant, he forgot that her physical body was not).

Her eyes were locked onto his mouth, her own lips already parted as she drew an unsteady breath. His cologne was heady and her skin was gooseflesh at the thought of his nearness, every nerve in her body was singing with desire and anticipation and her mind pulsed with one single thought: please don't let this end, don't ever let this end.

He lowered his head, his mouth making contact at the base of her neck, and he grinned when he heard her inhale sharply. Her head rolled forward, her lips seeking him out as well, but he continued his trek up the column of her throat, and she instinctively turned her head again, allowing him access. He reached the corner of her jaw line, just below her ear, and she gave a slight giggle, shivering under the heat of his mouth. And though she was thoroughly enjoying the effects of his lips on her skin, more than anything, she wanted to recapture his mouth with her own, to taste him again and feel the sparks that always accompanied the pressure of his tongue on hers.

Reaching up to take his head in her hands, she rose on the balls of her feet, pulling him closer to her as her lips found his, her tongue sliding between his teeth with a ease that said I belong here. It was a gloriously delicious feeling, and the warmth pooling between her legs made her crave more. He leaned in, his body almost crushing hers—she could feel his arousal pressing against her, and her core actually ached with need for the weight and feel of him inside of her.

A door opened further down the hall, and they quickly disengaged, David stepping back to let her move past him. Wordlessly, she turned and walked down the hall to her hotel room, not even bothering to see if he was following her—even if she couldn't hear the sound of his footsteps (which were nearly drowned out by the hammering in her own head), she could feel him, could sense the tension and electricity behind her, hovering like the proverbial axe. She decided with a feverish grin that an axe was the perfect description for David Rossi—whenever he was descending, she always lost her head. He had only to be near her, and she was undone.

His hands were at her back, already massaging the bundle of nerves at the base of her spine, and she could feel the heat rising in her core with every press of his fingers.

"Are you still on the pill, bella?" He purred into her ear, and she chuckled at the fact that only David Rossi could make a question about birth control sound like an enticement. Also, it was so typically David that he still couldn't remember her birthday, but he remembered what type of birth control she used.

"Yes," she answered breathlessly, nearly cheering with joy as the door unlocked. He swept her inside and they practically tumbled into the bed, a whirlwind of shaking hands and searching mouths and disappearing clothing. There was a brief pause as David reached over to turn on the bedside lamp, at which Erin bit her lip and grinned devilishly.

Neither one pulled back or asked to slow down—that would give them both time to think, and if they thought about it, they would realize, once again, that this was a colossal mistake. This was how it had always between them—frenzied, animalistic, pulsing need and pounding bodies, years of pent-up aggressions and affections and everything in-between.

She was lying beneath him now; his hand slipped between her legs and he smiled smugly at the fact that she was already slick and hot. She opened them wider, silently willing him to enter, though her only reward was a light feathering of his fingers before they cruelly disappeared again. The frustrated groan that rumbled deep in her throat made his cock twitch in anticipation. More than anything, he simply wanted to plunge into the warmth and wetness of her, to find himself buried deep within her once again, but he hadn't earned his title as the Casanova of the Bureau by acting like an impulsive teenager. For the past three days, his mind had played a very specific reel of images, and dammit, tonight he was going to see the show in three-dimensions.

He pulled her up, trading places as he laid down. Erin understood, she rose on her knees, moving to straddle him, but his hand on her hip stopped her. She cocked her head in confusion at first, but she nodded in recognition when his hands gently started to turn her around. His hands stayed firmly on her hips, steadying her as she shifted to the reverse cowgirl position. As she slowly sank down, taking him in one inch at a time, he watched the muscles of her lower back contract and ripple as she adjusted and began to set the pace, mimicking the glimpse he'd gotten when he'd snuck up on her in the gym two nights ago. This view was much better than the one in the gym, and David found himself sighing at the odd sense of belonging that he felt whenever he was sheathed in the warm silkiness of her. The mellow light from the lamp shifted around the shadow of her spine; the alcohol and the adrenaline had already created a light glow in her skin—it was mesmerizing, like watching moonlight move over water. Her hands covered his, which were still on her hips, her fingers slipping between his own, and he felt himself returning back to his own body, immediately becoming part of the moment again, rather than just a casual observer.

This was the third time that they'd spent a night together, but the first time that he'd felt so connected. Of course, that was probably due to the fact that the last two times had happened in rapid succession, when they barely knew each other—it had been four and a half years since then, and during that time, they'd learned more about one another, they'd been friends and allies and enemies and sparring partners and everything in-between, and now he could admit that he did care about Erin Strauss (although that was as much as he would admit, as much as he could admit, because as lovely as this was, it was for one night and one night only, and he couldn't think or feel past that).

David was quieter than usual, Erin noticed. He wasn't the biggest talker during sex (not that it bothered her, she was never good with words and really, this sort of thing didn't need a running commentary), but he hadn't spoken since they'd entered the room, and in her current position, she couldn't even see his face to read his emotions. She tightened the grip of her fingers, squeezing his, trying to feel something, anything, to gauge his feelings. His right hand pulled away, and she briefly wondered what it meant, until she felt the trace of his fingers down the line of her spine, gentle at first, but with increasing pressure as it traveled downward. He was mapping the muscles and contours of her body, caressing her, silently reassuring her that he was here, with her. That was all she needed; she stopped biting her lip in uncertainty and allowed herself to simply return to the feeling of his body with hers.

There was something different in his touch. It was almost…reverent. It was becoming oddly similar to the way Paul made love to her—at that thought, she stopped herself, but it wasn't because of her husband. In her mind, she'd referred to their current activity as love, when before it had been plain and simple sex. Sometimes there wasn't a difference, but when it came to their relationship, there was.

Oh, gods.

He was here because he cared, not because she was simply an easy target, a quick roll in the sack. He was here because she'd been upset and he'd wanted to make her happy again, because he cared. Because he…Erin couldn't finish the thought, not even in the dark privacy of her own head.

What was even more surprising was the fact that she was quite alright with it. After the first fateful encounter, they'd agreed that they couldn't talk about it, and they couldn't let it affect their working relationship, but they'd never agreed not to care about one another. This wasn't breaking any of the rules (at least not the ones they'd set), they really weren't even working together anymore, so what did it matter if there was something more behind the fucking?

It did matter. Deep down, Erin knew that it did. It mattered because David wasn't the only one who cared. She did, too.

The realization was just as startling and earth-shattering as the orgasm that followed it.

It was several hours and a few more rounds of horizontal tango later that Erin heard the gods-awful screeching of the electronic hotel clock. David grumbled something unintelligible as she crawled over him to silence the awful squawking.

"What was that?" She remained sprawled across his chest.

"You're like a cat, walking all over people when they're trying to sleep."

"I thought you were a dog person."

"I am. And that's why."

She smiled softly at his grumpiness, knowing it was mostly feigned, although David Rossi never was quite the morning person.

"You didn't mind my lack of personal boundaries earlier," she teased, pushing herself into a sitting position so that she could look down at his impassive face.

"I wasn't asleep earlier," he countered, his eyes still closed.

Her grinned deepened, "No, you definitely weren't asleep."

She got up and went into the bathroom. David could hear her turn on the shower, heard her return and rummage through her bag for her toiletries. He rolled onto his side and watched her.

"Your hips are wider."

"Excuse me?" She turned around, her expression mortified.

"Don't gimme that look. You could stand a little extra curves. It suits you."

"So you basically said I have a fat ass and that I should take it as a compliment," she surmised, turning to give him the full Ice Queen freeze—a look of total disdain, down the full length of her classical nose. However, the effect was lessened by the fact that she was still utterly naked, with last night's makeup and hair that left no doubts as to the fact that she'd been well and truly fucked the night before.

"See that's the problem with you, Erin," his tone was stern, but his eyes were twinkling mischievously. "You infer things and then you claim that I imply them, but really it's just you taking things out of context."

"Tell me again how a guy like you is working on his second divorce?" She feigned confusion. "I mean, a winner like you? How do the ladies ever tire of your smooth talk and charming wit?"

"I didn't hear you complaining about my smoothness and charm last night."

"You weren't talking last night." She replied easily, going back into the bathroom.

"But I was still using my tongue," he shot back, and this earned him a short laugh the echoed loudly in the tile bathroom. He liked her laugh—it wasn't the dainty, country-club lady-like lilt that one would expect of someone with Erin's breeding and looks; it was sharp and full and unapologetic, the laugh of a broad, a dame, a real dynamo. Once he truly got to know her, David realized that it suited her perfectly.

The trading of barbs stopped once he heard her step into the shower—he knew what came next. She was flirty and warm and familiar whenever they first woke, but as soon as she returned from the shower (after she'd washed away the evidence, the scent of him, the sweat, the sticky remains of their tryst), she would become flat and businesslike. They would have the let's-not-talk-about-this talk, and then she'd finished getting dressed and they'd go their separate ways.

Erin wasn't the only one who was bad at goodbyes. David always hated the coldness of their partings, the calculating removal of smiles and warmth, the everything-they-weren't that became even more painfully obvious during these moments. So, he decided that he wouldn't stick around to be a part of it this time. He quietly got up, got dressed, gathered his things, and left.

Vienna, Virginia.

By the time Erin had arrived at the front doorstep of her home, she'd had enough time to sufficiently berate herself for her complete lack of morals (though she still had yet to actually feel regret for her actions, which she was certain was a key element in the process), and like the times before, she resolved to further dedicate herself to the happiness and love of the man who deserved both items in abundance.

That man opened the door, his face alight at the sight of her, "Why didn't you call? I could've picked you up at the airport."

"I didn't want you to have to drag Jordan along. It's such a crazy drive," she admitted, dropping her bag in the front hallway and pulling Paul into a hug, savoring the warmth and strength of him. "Oh, I've missed you both so much."

"Mama?" A young voice inquired from the living room, and Erin moved towards it—she was immediately greeted by an enthusiastic three-year-old who'd obviously dressed herself.

After several minutes of kissing and hugging and cooing and questioning, Erin had settled Jordan onto her hip (although she was almost too big to still be held like that, Erin realized with a pang of sadness) and was moving around the kitchen, preparing her daughter's favorite snack as Paul dutifully took her bags into the laundry room. She'd told him not to unpack them, citing that she'd do it later and give him a chance to relax, but in reality, she didn't want him to find the panties that had been soaked in her arousal from her hallway foreplay with David—not that they were definite proof of anything, but she was well-versed in the understanding of circumstantial evidence to realize that they could raise questions, and she couldn't lie about it. In fact, she'd never lied to Paul about her time with David, at least not by her definition. Sure, she'd never told him about the affairs, but she'd never said that they hadn't happened either. There was a difference between lying about it and simply not mentioning it, right?

Jordan slipped off her mother's hip, took her snack and disappeared back to her cartoons. Erin turned her attention to the dishes in the sink, smiling as she thought of how hectic the past four days had been for her husband as he'd played single parent to a toddler. She heard him approach, felt his arms snake around her waist as he nuzzled her neck.

The sad, sick, horrible thing was that every time she'd slept with David Rossi, Erin had immediately felt a sudden need to go and rekindle things with her husband—as if somehow, she atoned for her folly by reapplying herself to her marriage. This was no exception.

She leaned back, closing her eyes as she relished the solid feel of his chest against her back (he was taller than David, something she shouldn't be thinking right now, but still, she thought it). He was a good man, a darling man, and he didn't deserve the unknowing hell that she put him in. She should feel guilty and horrible, and yet she didn't, which made her feel guilty and horrible for not feeling guilty and horrible.

She hated the flatness of her emotions—secretly she wondered if she had some kind of antisocial disorder, some brain-chemical imbalance that stopped her from feeling remorse or empathy or anything at all. What kind of person cheated on their spouse and then felt absolutely ambivalent about it?

David had left while she was in the shower. Because that's what they were—people who had sex in hotels and left before breakfast, people who had no morals or empathy, people who fucked one another and fucked up the lives of everyone they cared about, because they had no soul. Greedy, mindless, soulless creatures. That's what she told herself. It still didn't actually change how she felt.

David had left, because he wasn't meant to be in her life. Her life was here, with her husband and her daughter, with the people she loved, with the man who was always there in the morning, who didn't slink away without a word. David had left, because he didn't really care. And she'd let him leave, because she didn't really care either. That's what she told herself. It still didn't actually change how she felt.

Erin didn't want to think about those feelings anymore. She turned around quickly, wrapping her arms around Paul's neck and capturing his mouth with a sudden vengeance that surprised him. Her kisses were harsh, insistent, as she tugged at his clothes, more out of frustration than actual desire. She bit his lip and he pulled back.

"Whoa, what's wrong?" He laughed lightly, but his eyes betrayed his concern.

"Nothing," she lied, her hands cupping his face. "I just missed you."

"So I see," he smirked. He leaned in again, kissing the top of her forehead. "We'll continue this after Jordan's bedtime."

She nodded, this time gently kissing his lips in agreement.

As he moved around the kitchen, his tone turned conversational, "I bet you were miserable in Seattle."

"Why do you say that?" She looked at him curiously.

He reached for a bottle of pills on the other side of the kitchen island, holding them up in explanation, "You left your antibiotics here."

Erin felt her heart stop and her stomach drop.

"I-I-I completely forgot," she stammered, her mouth suddenly dry.

He was confused by her reaction, "It's not that big of a deal, Erin. You'd been taking them for over a week, and you were only off for a few days. Just pick up where you left off today and it shouldn't be a problem."

"No, no, I know that—you're right," she nodded quickly. She knew that he thought she was going batty for getting so upset over a few missed doses, but that wasn't her concern at all.

She and David hadn't used a condom because she was on the pill.

Oh, shit.