Role Reversal

"I found a martyr in my bed tonight—she stops my bones from wondering just who I am...Oh, who am I?" ~Fun (Some Nights)

*Author's Note: The words of dialogue in the first section of this chapter are not mine—they belong to Simon Mirren, who wrote the particular episode from which this moment was taken (2.23 No Way Out Part II: The Evilution of Frank).*

May 2007. Quantico, Virginia.

"You have three children but you favor the middle one, your son." Agent Aaron Hotchner's voice was unbelievably impassive as he continued his assessment.

"What do you think you're doing?" Erin felt the breath leave her lungs. He was dancing along the edge of something dangerous, and she didn't like the feeling that it inspired within her.

Agent Hotchner didn't skip a beat, "Of course, you love all your children, but not like your son—"

"That's enough—"

"The bonsai you obsessively nurture is to compensate for feelings of failure as a mother—"

"Agent Hotchner, I said that is enough!" Erin was on her feet now, her hands slamming onto her desk to emphasize the severity of her command. She took a second to push back the wave of absolute hysteria that was threatening to overtake her. Breathe. He doesn't know. He couldn't know. No one knows. No one but you, god, and the devil.

She shielded herself by immediately launching into a litany of red tape bullshit (yes, even she realized how ludicrous it was, but Bureau politics were part and parcel of the job, and if she wanted to remain in power, then she had to take out her biggest threat—which of course, just had to be David Rossi's protégé, Aaron Hotchner).

It wasn't until he turned to leave that she felt the fear rising again, and she couldn't stop herself from calling out, "Agent Hotchner—"

She stopped herself from asking the question, too fearful of what it might give away, but of course, he knew what she wanted to ask. Damn you, David, you trained him too well.

He turned back around, "How do I know you favor your son?"

She glanced down at the photo—was it that obvious? Were there other things about Christopher that seemed obvious to Agent Hotchner's intuitive gaze, things about Erin's past that he could cobble together into a deadly narrative?

"I'm good at my job," was his simple reply, and with that, he left.

That was not what Erin wanted to hear. That was much too vague, it left too much in the air—she tried to tell herself that she was being paranoid, but she couldn't ignore the sick feeling in her stomach.

She'd never had Christopher's paternity tested (and why should she, when she was happily married to Paul?), but she'd known the truth from the moment she'd seen the result on the home pregnancy test. She'd known because she'd been ill everyday of her pregnancy with Jordan, but she hadn't had the slightest bit of morning sickness at all while she carried Christopher—of course, every pregnancy was different, people said, and many of her girlfriends and neighbors had simply said it was divine favor, after the hell she'd gone through with the first pregnancy. She'd smiled and nodded and laughed in relief, but deep down, she knew the real reason. Her body knew the truth, and it willingly accepted the housing and nourishing of David Rossi's seed, whereas it had revolted against her husband's. It seemed like a sign, though Erin wasn't sure what it signified.

Paul had received the son that he'd wanted, and they'd proudly named him Christopher Paul Strauss. Of course, no one questioned their son's dark hair or brown eyes, because genetics was always full of strange twists and flukes. For the first time ever, Erin had truly felt guilty about her time spent with David. Her infidelity had stolen Paul's chance at being a father to her son, had created a new boundary that should have never been crossed. Paul deserved a son—one that was really, truly his, not a bastard created out of one night of bad decisions and complete immorality on his wife's part.

Despite that harsh description of her son, Erin loved him deeply. In the end, things had gone badly for her and David, and that was a tragedy. But Christopher would always be a part of her life, a living monument to the fact that, at one time, they did love each other (yes, she could say it now, softly and quietly within the recesses of her own mind), and at one time, they'd shared a connection that had been worth shattering every other aspect of her world. He had her laugh and her temper, with David's curiosity and contemplativeness. She loved her daughters, but Agent Hotchner was right—it wasn't the same, simply because their father wasn't the same as Christopher's.

As soon as Christopher was a year old, Erin immediately set out to get pregnant again—not because she truly wanted another child, but because she felt honor-bound to provide Paul with a legitimate son, one of his own flesh and blood. Anna Claire had arrived instead (furthering Erin's suspicions, because she was a girl and because Erin had been ill for the first five months of her pregnancy), and at that point, she was thirty-seven years old and Paul was forty-two. They had three children; they decided that they were happy enough.

Paul was none the wiser of her infidelity or his failure to produce a son, and so Erin had gone along with the ruse. She'd never had any intention of telling him the truth (again, he never asked if Chris was his son, so it technically wasn't lying in her book), and David Rossi was so far out of the picture that it didn't seem to matter anymore. He'd never meet his own son, and though it seemed a little cruel, Erin was glad for that.

Ignorance was bliss. Of that she was certain.

April 2013. Quantico, Virginia.

David Rossi dropped his go-bag onto the floor of his office with a heavy sigh. He knew that he should simply turn around and head home—they'd been out in the field for eight days straight—but he wasn't ready to return to an empty house, with no company but his thoughts. Even though the rest of the team had already left, he was still surrounded by the sounds of the office—the late night vacuuming of the janitors, the occasional beeps and whirrs of various computers and printers, the odd passerby weaving their way through the darkened halls. It was strangely comforting.

Every case was hard. Some were harder than others—the ones that weren't solved, the ones that took too long or lost too much in the process, the faces that reminded him of his mother, his sisters, his brothers-in-arms, the ones that threatened to completely annihilate his faith in fellow human beings. The ones involving children were always the hardest.

This last case was a lethal combination—it involved being too late, a child, and a sadist who would be locked away and yet would never be fully punished for the horror he committed.

All of this was further intensified by the knowledge that his birthday was fast approaching—soon, he would have to make the annual trek to see Thomas Yates, one of the most prolific killers he'd ever encountered, to dutifully receive another name (another victim, another body to find, another family to shatter with the heartbreaking truth that their daughter or sister or mother or wife or lover was a victim of the infamous Womb Raider and would truly never return home, another flame of hope to extinguish, another light to quietly and mournfully leave the world).

His office was suddenly too small and too quiet. He decided to take a walk around the building to clear his head. Without even thinking, he found his feet making their way to her office, as if his body understood what he needed before his mind was even aware of it.

They hadn't spoken in almost two weeks—not since the shouting match in Hotch's office. But that didn't matter. Things like that didn't matter, not when it really came down to it. The battle had ended on a softer note than usual, and after seeing the fear in those light green eyes, he'd promised to stop shirking his protective detail (because even though it irritated him beyond belief to be treated like a rookie who couldn't watch his own back, the realization that it kept a blonde pillar of steel from turning into a teary-eyed puddle of worry was enough to make it bearable). Erin had curtly nodded in agreement, and they hadn't talked about it since.

And now here he was, traveling soundlessly through the darkened halls, down a path that he could have walked blindfolded, because this was his home even more so than the sprawling mansion in the country was, because his body would always find its way back to hers, regardless of the time or distance or emotion between them.

He rounded the corner and saw a weak shaft of light pooling underneath her office door. She was still there—somehow, he knew that she would be.

She was standing at her credenza, which was covered in paperwork that she was filing. She turned around at the sound of the door, opening her mouth to speak, but she took one look at his face and stopped. She moved to him, quickly closing the gap between them, clasping both her hands around his wrists and taking a moment to simply look into his eyes, which were so dull and flat and scarily unlike him.

Compassion swelled over her like a wave, and in that moment, she would have gladly laid her skin open to any form of pain, if it would lessen the hurt and fatigue that she felt radiating from every pore of his being.

She understood the reason behind his sudden appearance, the cause of the pain in those dark eyes—she'd already received the update from Agent Hotchner, she'd seen the crime scene photos, and she felt the same helplessness at witnessing the body of a beautiful, delicate child that had been completely destroyed by a depraved monster.

Wordlessly, she guided him over to the black leather couch in the corner of her office, gently pushing him to sit, which he did, his face skewed in confusion. Taking him by the shoulders, she guided him again, remaining silent as she laid him down on his left side, back against the couch. Slipping out of her heels, she joined him, lying on her right side, her head slightly above his own as her left hand guided his head to the crook of her neck, her fingers gently running through his salt and pepper locks as her left ankle lightly hooked around the curve of his calf. He reached out, his right arm wrapping around her waist, anchoring her and keeping her from rolling off the edge.

She felt his long lashes brush against her skin as he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. She could feel the tension melting away from his muscles, but the tiredness and sorrow were still there, so she simply continued caressing his head, her hands occasionally traveling down to rub small circular patterns on his shoulder blades.

The slow, steady beat of Erin's pulse against his forehead had an immediate calming effect upon David Rossi, and his breathing slowed to match the soft whoosh of her lungs that filled his ears. She didn't ask questions or offer condolences, and for that, he was grateful. He wasn't ready to explain, to speak or to accept platitudes for the sheer evil that he'd witnessed. She allowed him to simply be. And that was exactly what he needed.

After a few minutes, her arms slipped beneath his own, hooking around his shoulders and pulling him tighter, her lips pressing the top of his head in a fiercely protective kiss. Like so many times before, their bodies melded together, fitting like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

It was the first time that David really felt how strong she was—physically, emotionally, mentally. Every other time they'd been in each other's arms, he had been the one holding her, and it had always started because she'd allowed him to see some chink in her armor and her uncharacteristic bout of vulnerability had spoken to the white knight within him. But this time, the roles were reversed, and he could feel the invisible bruises and tears on his soul and psyche slowly mending and healing (though not completely, never completely, but better and faster than they would on his own) simply by the power of her embrace. It was almost as if he could feel her own strength seeping through her skin into his, slipping and melding into his bones, restoring what had been lost during the brutal events of the day.

Her lips remained pressed to his head, her nostrils filling with the scent of him, her own eyes closing in silent supplication as she wished to the heavens above that her simple offering would be enough to comfort him and take away the ghosts in his eyes, though she knew her orison to be a futile one, to some extent.

They didn't speak, or move, or think of anything beyond the sound of the other's breathing. Rossi closed his eyes again, reveling in the warm softness of Erin's skin, mingled with the faint scent of her honeysuckle perfume. She was his own private Garden of Eden, and in her arms, he felt sheltered, protected, encased in the strength of some indomitable fortress who would keep him from the weight and the worry of his world. He drifted into peaceful slumber, and Erin soon tumbled into dreamland with him.

When she awoke almost two hours later, her neck felt like it was on fire from the strain of its awkward position, and she couldn't feel her right arm, which was tucked beneath David's head. He felt her stirring and his own eyes fluttered opened as he grimaced, taking a moment to regain his bearings. Looking at the clock, he felt a pang of guilt—it was late, and Erin still had a kid at home.

"You need to get home," he sat up, keeping his arm around her as he pulled her up to a sitting position as well.

"Oh, wow," her hand went to her hair, trying to pull her locks back into some semblance of their original form. She sat up and moved across the room, opening her bottom desk drawer to pull out her purse, fishing out her cellphone.

"Dammit," she muttered under her breath whenever she saw a missed call and two texts from her youngest daughter. She dialed her home phone number.

"About time you decided to call," Anna's tone was eerily like her mother's whenever she was filled with righteous indignation.

"I know, I'm sorry," Erin apologized, glancing over at David with a small smile that belied her words. "It was a rough day; I accidentally fell asleep on the couch in the office."

It wasn't a lie. Not in the least.

"I'm on my way home now," she finished.

"Don't fall asleep at the wheel," Anna warned.

"I won't. See you soon. Love you."

Anna mumbled something that might have been a reciprocation of her mother's love (at least that's how Erin chose to interpret it) and hung up.

Erin moved back to David, her eyes still filled with concern. "Are you OK? I mean, are you alright to drive home?"

"I'll be fine, Erin." He assured her, scrubbing a hand across his face and rising to his feet.

"That's not what I asked," she returned softly, stepping in again, her fingers gently resting on the lapels of his sports coat. Her eyes searched his, trying to see past the defenses that she knew he was slowly rebuilding. "Do you think you really need to be alone tonight?"

The tenderness in her voice actually brought tears to David's eyes, and it was that simple reaction that cemented Erin's decision.

"Come on," she turned and walked over to the couch, slipping back into her shoes. "You can stay in the guest bedroom."

"Erin, it's not necessary—"

"Be that as it may, it's still happening," she shot back, grabbing her purse from her desk and motioning for him to exit the office. "Get your go-bag from your office. You can wash your spare clothes at my place and wear them into work tomorrow."

He couldn't help but smile—she always had an answer for everything, a battle plan mapped out in a matter of seconds. Her efficiency and commanding air were equal parts irritating and adorable.

"And are you going to let my protective detail follow us all the way back to your place?" He asked, arching his brow.

She gave a frustrated sigh; obviously she hadn't thought about that little factor.

"I'll handle it," she turned back to the phone on her desk.

"This wouldn't even be a problem if you'd let me have my way two weeks ago," he teased, knowing it would only anger her.

"I'll handle it," she repeated, not even bothering to look back at him as she leaned across the desk to pick up the receiver and dial a number.

"That's a nice skirt."

She merely turned around, giving him the slow burn which succinctly informed him that his comments were neither necessary nor welcome. One quick phone call later, SSA Rossi's protective detail for the night had been removed, and Section Chief Strauss was gathering her things and ushering him out the door once more.

She turned out the lights and closed the door as they walked out, back to the BAU offices for David's things, then out to the parking garage, to their respective vehicles. David followed her gunmetal grey crossover back into Vienna, to a quiet suburb with sprawling lawns and well-tended shrubbery.

David had never been to Erin's house before, but it was almost exactly what he would've imagined. It was an elegant-yet-simple split level, light grey with white trim and navy shutters, with clean lines and warm lights shining up the paving stone walk-way. The flowerbeds were filled with neat rows of various bulb plants—hyacinths, tulips, irises, and daffodils, their brilliant hues making up for the house's cool exterior.

He pulled into the driveway behind her, taking a moment to fully appreciate the cozy view before killing the engine and grabbing his go-bag from the trunk of his sports car.

She was out of her vehicle as well, looking back at him expectantly, a timid smile playing on her lips. This was a big thing for her, allowing him into her home, her sanctuary, the only place that he'd never been. He knew this, and he was both touched and frightened at the realization—touched that she would trust him with this, and frightened that he would somehow damage it in some way.

Part of him knew that he should have refused—after all, it wasn't the first time that he'd been alone after a particularly hard-hitting case, he could survive on his own—and an even smaller part of him wished that he had actually declined her hospitality, simply for fear of ruining whatever tenuous thing grew between them now. But the largest part of him, the deepest, truest part of him, knew that she'd seen through it all, peered right into his soul, and understood his need to not be alone tonight. He could survive on his own, but suddenly, he realized that he didn't want to.

He caught up with her, following her into the garage and to the door that was attached to the house.

Erin had been smart enough to call ahead and warn Anna of their impending house guest on the drive home, cutting off any potentially embarrassing situations before they even began. Of course, Anna was immediately intrigued at the thought of her mother bringing someone home (a male someone, even if he was 'just a coworker', according to Erin) and opened the door as soon as Erin reached for it, an energetic smile on her face.

"Hello," she had her mother's eyes, bright and quick, which took him in and silently approved within mere seconds.

"Hello," he replied, slightly taken aback by this small hurricane that had blown open the door.

"Did you have the house alarm on while you were here alone?" Erin went straight into mother-mode, and pleasantries were temporarily forgotten.

Anna rolled her eyes, stepping back into the small hallway to allow them to enter, "Yes, Mom, I'm not completely stupid, you know."

"Well, sometimes you forget."

"Well, I didn't tonight."

Erin suddenly remembered her manners. "David, this is my daughter, Anna. Anna, this is David Rossi."

The two shook hands before Anna moved around him, closing and locking the door and quickly punching in the alarm code.

Motioning back to the alarm keypad with a careless wave as she continued into the kitchen, Erin warned, "If you need to leave the house for any reason, come wake me up so that you don't set off the alarm."

He nodded, his dark eyes taking in the open space of her kitchen, the French doors that led out to a stone patio and a small pool, all enclosed in a sturdy wooden fence covered in morning glory vines. Again, there were colorful flowers dotting the backyard landscape, and he briefly envisioned Erin working in her garden in the warm sunshine, happy and sweaty and elbows-deep in the earth.

Erin crossed the kitchen to a wide staircase, wisely toeing off her high heels before ascending. David dutifully followed, fully aware that Anna was right behind him, still smiling like a Cheshire cat.

"Here's the guest room," Erin announced, opening the first door off the second floor landing and flipping on the light. "It used to be Jordan's."

Though he'd never met any of her children (except for Anna, just now), David remembered their names and their faces from old family photos in Erin's office—he knew that Jordan was her eldest daughter, who'd moved out several years ago when she went to college.

The room no longer looked as if it belonged to a teenage girl—it was filled with muted tones and elegant bedding, a guest bedroom straight out of a catalog. David set his bag on the bed and Erin continued her hostess speech, "The bathroom is one door down; towels are in the cabinet behind the door. Anna will be up at 6 am for school, but she usually keeps it pretty quiet, so it shouldn't disturb you."

He simply nodded, turning back to her with a small smile.

Her daughter was still peeking around the edge of the door, silently taking in the exchange between Erin and this stranger.

"Well, I'm off to bed." Anna stepped forward, giving her mother a quick hug before flashing David another smile, "It was nice meeting you, Agent Rossi."

"You, too, Anna," he returned her smile. The teenager disappeared down the hall and David heard the light click of a door shutting.

Suddenly, Erin became nervous. She motioned to his bag, "Just give me your other sets of clothes and I'll start the wash."

He dutifully handed over the clothes from his go-bag. She looked down the hall, to the third bedroom, "I think I still have some of Chris' clothes here; I'm sure there's some pajamas that you could borrow."

Without waiting for his response, she drifted into her son's old bedroom, which still looked as if it housed a teenage boy (although it was much too clean for such a thing to be possible). David heard the sound of drawers opening and closing and a few moments later, a triumphant Erin returned with a pair of grey sweatpants and a t-shirt.

He thanked her quietly and she disappeared downstairs. After a few minutes, David heard the faint hum of the washing machine coming to life. The small sounds of domesticity were comforting, and despite being in a strange house, he felt oddly at-home. He changed his clothes, went into the bathroom, washed his face and brushed his teeth and returned to the wonderfully soft bed, his mind too tired and too busy healing to think on the absurdity of this moment.

Erin gripped the edges of the washing machine, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as she tried to comprehend what was happening. David Rossi was here, in her house, sleeping in her guest room, walking her floors, breathing her air, living within her sancta terra.

What did this mean? What did he expect? He was still a man and she'd still invited him to her home—it had taken a lot less than that to unravel things between them in the past. David may have been sweet and soft and wounded in her office, but by the time they'd left the building, she could already tell that he was beginning to slip back into his usual self. The logical part of her brain told her that she should have let him go home (alone, to his own home) and let him heal (alone, on his own), but her heart vehemently disagreed—after all, wasn't she living proof of how destructive one can be when one tried to deal with pain and hurt alone?

The person that she used to be would have let him go home alone. Her heart would have ached for him, and she would have prayed to the heavens to lessen his pain, but that was all that she would do, because she would tell herself that they weren't those people, that they couldn't be those people or mean those things to one another. And he would have understood, and he would have accepted that, because that was the person that he used to be.

But the (glorious, thrilling, frightful, wondrous) thing was that they were no longer either of those people any more. She could no longer hold him at arm's length, and he was no longer satisfied with being held at a distance. Eleven months ago, they'd finally decided to break the iron-cast mold of their relationship and start on something new. She'd asked for a year of sobriety, and he'd promised not to talk about it until she brought it up.

She hadn't, of course. Oh, she'd wanted to, several times now, but the fear would catch her words in her throat and her lungs would forget how to work and she would suddenly become fumbling and shaky and uncertain. She wasn't used to talking about their relationship, because it had never been one based on words or flowery phrases, because until eleven months ago, it had been something that they didn't talk about at all.

Maybe she didn't need words (not always, not all the time, not when it mattered the most).

She heard the light rumble of the water pipes as David prepared for bed (making yet another mental note to have the pipes looked at, which she was certain she'd forget again), and the physical pull in her body shocked her—she literally felt, from the pit of her stomach to the top of her shoulders, as if her body was straining to rejoin his, her heart's cry answering the silent cry of his own heart, the instinctual call to return to the place it belonged.

Oh, they were certainly getting into murky waters now.

Regardless of the situational murkiness, Erin knew that she would go back up to him—she had to, her actions had been predetermined and predestined and there was nothing to do but accept that she would not be able to win this battle against her heart (though it was not a battle that she wanted to win anyways, not really, not truly). Besides, she hadn't brought him this far just to abandon him—for the first time in their strange and tumbling relationship, he was allowing her to take care of him, and gods be damned if she didn't prove herself worthy of such a task.

Looking through a basket of clean clothes that was still sitting atop the dryer, she found a pair of yoga pants and a loose tank top, quickly discarding her own clothing and tossing them in the clothes hamper. On bare feet, she padded up the stairs and across the soft carpet to the guest room. The light was out, but she could still see the outline of his body under the covers. She walked to the other side of the bed, silently slipping between the sheets.

David hadn't been sure that Erin would return, but the instant he'd heard the light tread of her feet on the stairs, his heart filled with warmth. She was moving quietly across the room, her calm and soft presence reminding him of just how rough the past few days had been—every movement of her body intimated a bespoke sense of care that his life had lacked for quite some time.

He didn't acknowledge her presence until he felt the mattress dip under her weight, heard the soft rustle as she moved her body closer to his. Once her arms wrapped around him, their bodies instinctively melded together, her chest fusing to his back as her legs intertwined with his, her chin finding its nest in the crook of his neck.

"I wasn't sure you'd come back," he finally spoke into the darkness.

"I always do," she returned quietly, her breath warm upon his skin. "You should know that by now."

He smiled at the thought, because in truth, he did know. Even when his mind was uncertain, there was always a small shadow in his heart that whispered her inevitable return.

"I told you that I wouldn't leave you alone tonight," she continued, her arms squeezing him tighter. "It'd be kind of cruel to bring you here and just leave you in a strange room by yourself."

"You're not exactly renowned for your warmth and compassion," he joked lightly, and felt a wave of relief when she chuckled at the joke.

"But I'm never cruel, David," she purred. He couldn't see her face, but he could hear the smirk in her voice, "I give you exactly what you deserve. That's not cruelty; that's justice."

"Ah, justice," he hummed.

"Justice," she repeated, lightly kissing the shell of his ear.

"So tonight I deserve to be cuddled?"

"You do," her voice was soft, filled with compassion. After a beat, she added, "I saw the crime scene photos."

She felt his chest expand beneath her arms, heard him sigh, and she immediately regretted her words, "We don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to. I didn't mean…I just…I want you to know that it's alright, if you do. I understand."

He knew that she was speaking the truth—she did understand, at least she understood better than any other woman he'd been with, because she'd seen the pictures, she'd felt the disappointment, had known the cost and understood the loss.

"I'm just not used to talking about these things," he admitted softly. "Unless it's with a shrink or a superior performing an evaluation."

She hummed in understanding. There was a silence as David tried to piece together into words and sentences the feelings that swirled in his heart and his head.

"I…I just…" He gave another heavy sigh, the desolation in his voice raw and unmistakable. "I know why they do it—I always do, because it's my job, and I'm good at it, I've always been good at it….I know why, but I just don't know why."

Despite his words, Erin understood his meaning—David Rossi was a behavioral analyst, and all his training and years of experience had taught him to predict and explain human behavior. He could write a book on this particular UNSUB's life, could lecture on it, could dissect it down to the minutest detail, could live and walk inside his mind, and yet, at the end of the day, he still couldn't answer the deeper why—why did his environment, his biology, and his psychology have to line up in this cosmically perfect way to create this monster? Why did this child have to be the one to die? Why did these parents have to be the ones to live with the guilt and the horror and the loss and the sadness? Why did he have to be the one who actually understood the killer? Why did he have to be the one to find the child's body, to know the smell of blood, to forever remember every wound, every pain, every scream? Why did their world have to contain such evil and such innocence, mixed together in such a hellish way? Why?

Of course, she had no words to say that would answer these questions—no one did, and that was what caused the most angst. So, she decided to be truthful.

"I wish I knew the perfect words to say to take your pain away," she whispered, her own voice choked with tears. "I wish to god that I did."

"There are no perfect words," he replied. She sighed.

"I know." She raised up to kiss his temple. "I know."

His hand moved up, closing over hers, which rested on his chest, over his heart like a shield. Then he gently raised her hand to his lips, kissing the ridges between each knuckle with a sweet reverence that took the breath out of her lungs.

"Thank you." He returned her hand to its home over his heart.

She turned her head, nuzzling her cheek on the fabric covering his shoulder. "Just repaying old favors, my love."

Her voice returned to its usual tone as she added, "Now get some sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be hell."

He gave a slight chuckle in agreement, closing his eyes and being surprised to find that rest was not far away, for the warmth and comfort of the woman beside him had lulled him into a peacefulness that he'd thought would elude him for many more nights, until the images in his head were replaced by something else from another case, eventually removing some of its horror. But the soft feel of her chest against his back, the weight of her inner left knee resting on his inner right, the gentle warmth of her breath on his shoulder drove all those dark images away, at least for now.

My love, was his last thought before he succumbed to sleep. She said 'My love.'

Erin felt David's muscles slacken and his breathing deepen as he drifted into slumber, but this time, she didn't follow him. Her daughter was just down the hall, and she wasn't going to let Anna find her mother in the guest bedroom with some guy whom she'd just brought home. She waited until she was certain that David was asleep before quietly and gently disengaging herself from him. She tucked the comforter around his back, making sure none of the warmth escaped, and then made her way back down the stairs and into her own bedroom, which suddenly seemed cold and empty when faced with the knowledge that a warm, flesh-and-blood man slept upstairs.

With a heavy sigh, she entered the master bathroom, removing her clothing and turning on the shower. The water was almost too hot, and it scalded her skin, but she didn't adjust the temperature—she needed the steam and the sting of the heat to distract her mind, which was still running a million miles per minute.

She'd slipped up again—she'd called him 'My love', and she knew that he'd heard it. He'd heard it and he would remember hearing it in the morning (he always remembered the things that she didn't mean to say, the things she didn't want him to hear or remember, the things that were always closest to the truth and therefore the hardest for her to deal with).

And if he remembered it, then he would surely mention it, which meant that Erin would have to talk about it. Truth be told, she didn't know what to say—it had simply slipped out, just as naturally and effortlessly as breathing.

She didn't regret it. That surprised her, because a year ago, it would have been something that she immediately regretted, and she would have retracted the statement just as quickly. She was glad for the change, because she didn't want to be the person that she was a year ago, and yet it brought an aura of scariness…what was it that her friend Marla always said? Scary and wonderful often go hand-in-hand. Sometimes you can't have one without the other.

She was definitely at the scary part. The only problem was that she didn't think she deserved the wonderful part. Erin was a devout believer in karma, and she knew that most of her life, she'd been given things that she didn't deserve, and she'd been ungrateful for them, she'd squandered those precious blessings, spat in the face of the Universe that bestowed those gifts, and eventually, she would receive her just dessert. Something deep in her gut told her that David Rossi would be part of the bargain—she feared that she'd be given the chance to make something more out of the strange thing blossoming between them, only to have it ripped away once she truly gave her heart. That was how life was. That was what she deserved.

Erin knew that she had no right to ask any favors from God. Despite her feelings of unworthiness, she found prayers falling from her lips, drifting between the now-cooling droplets of water, hopefully finding their way to divine ears as she silently pleaded for this one thing, this final blessing, her only request—that whatever thing was happening between her and David would be allowed to continue, and that when it finally fell apart, it wouldn't be due to her own fear or stupidity.

Even as she whispered these words, she knew they were futile—her fear and stupidity had sealed their fate long ago, and that was a truth that she'd have to live with for the rest of her life.

*Author's Note: Thomas 'Tommy' Yates, aka The Womb Raider, appears in 7.22 "Profiling 101". If you don't remember the full story, I recommend brushing up on the details before continuing...just a heads up.*