Batten Down the Hatches
"Hope for the best, prepare for the worst." ~English Proverb
May 2013. Quantico, Virginia.
Erin. Elaine. Breyer. Strauss. Get off this fucking floor and do what needs to be done.
Erin obeyed her inner voice, gripping her desk to pull herself back onto her wobbly feet, taking a deep breath and fighting down another wave of nausea. She was actually surprised at how well her brain continued to function, issuing commands which her numb body followed. She sat down at her desk, made two phone calls, then shakily re-gathered the photos strewn on the floor and exited her office.
Carrington stood, completely shocked by Erin's haggard face, "Erin? Erin, is everything OK?"
"I—I have to—I'll be in the BAU," Erin offered quickly, reshuffling the photos and clutching them to her chest like they were state secrets. "If the director calls back, transfer the call to Agent Hotchner's office."
The receptionist simply nodded, her large eyes filled with fear and concern, but she knew better than to push the subject. She'd never seen Erin Strauss so distraught, and she feared what would happen if she asked any more questions, so she retreated to her desk and watched her boss disappear down the hall.
Erin could move even faster through the maze of hallways without her usual designer heels. She suddenly realized how she must look, but she didn't really care—there were more important things to worry about right now.
She pushed through the glass doors marked Behavioral Analysis Unit, her breathing becoming uneven again as she approached Agent Hotchner's office.
Alex Blake stopped, the color draining from her face at the sight of Erin's disheveled appearance. Reid noticed her actions and turned to follow her line of sight, his own expression filling with shock as well.
Strauss moved past them, not even noticing the two agents as she hurried into Hotch's office.
"What the hell..." Alex's eyes were still glued to Hotch's door, which was now closed.
"I think we just got our key," Spencer replied, his brows knitting together as he tried to read the body language between his two superiors through the window in Hotch's office.
"I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have—I touched the photos—I couldn't help it," Erin was bumbling now. She was with Aaron Hotchner (he would know what to do and what to say, he always did, that's why she'd come to trust him so) and suddenly her need to be in-command melted away and her entire body was shaking with the sickening cocktail of fear, nerves, and adrenaline that she hadn't allowed herself to feel until now.
He was using two Kleenex as makeshift gloves, to keep his own prints off as he awkwardly tried to shuffle through the photos. It might have been comical if the situation wasn't so terrifying. She saw his grip reflexively tighten around the photograph of his son, saw his eyes close (just for a second), saw his throat swallow as he tried to control his breathing. At least Erin knew that she wasn't overreacting to this obvious threat.
"No return address?" Hotch guessed, and Erin shook her head quickly.
"It's the same kind of photo paper—the same kind..." she couldn't bring herself to finish, so she forced herself to take another deep breath."I've already made the call—all three boys are being picked up and taken into protective custody right now; they'll be brought back here. It was the safest place I could think of. And the director knows. I just—I'm just not sure what else to do."
"You did good, Erin," he assured her, the relief in his eyes unmistakable. "The boys are safe; that's the most important thing. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to speak to JJ right away."
"Yes, of course, please, go," she was speaking quickly again, clasping and unclasping her hands.
He moved to the door, "Will you assemble the rest of the team in the conference room? As soon as I tell Agent Jareau, we'll join you."
She gave a curt nod, grateful to have some task to perform, something to do, some way to feel like she was helping.
"And Erin?" He turned back to her, his face set in a determined expression as he assured her, "It's going to be alright."
She nodded again, but this time, she wasn't so certain.
"The photos are our key to understanding the items left at Thomas Yates' old dump sites," Reid pronounced. "I would wager that if we send the boys' fingerprints to the local labs who first inspected the items, we'll find a match."
"He's taunting us," Morgan agreed. "Showing us just how close he can get—not just to us, but to our families."
Hotch and JJ exchanged somber glances. Erin simply stared at the tabletop, looking as if she might toss her cookies (again).
"The dates could have been chosen as part of his message as well—the holidays that fall on these two days could be clues as to what the Replicator's next move is," Reid was on a roll now, gesticulating with his hands as he continued. "Today, the day we received the reminder notice, is Visit Your Relatives Day, a holiday meant to inspire people to reconnect with family members who might not always be in touch. Two weeks from now, if our UNSUB is still operating on the eight-week schedule, possible relevant holidays include Double Dare Day, Flip a Coin Day, and Early Bird Day. On a historical note, both dates are also anniversaries of eruptions of long-dormant volcanoes."
"How the hell are those holidays relevant?" Strauss asked, her soft tone lessening the harshness of her words. She was bravely trying to mask her fear, but her hands were still trembling and her face was still three shades too pale. David gripped the edge of his chair, fighting down the urge to rush over and take the blonde into his arms.
"It depends on what his plans include," Alex spoke up, turning her brown eyes to Erin. "If the Replicator chose these dates as a way to communicate to us, the fact that we received the photos on Visit Your Relatives Day could be his way of saying to spend time with the boys, because soon they'll be gone."
The look on all three parents' faces was painful to see, but Alex pushed forward, "Double Dare Day...maybe he's daring us to try and stop whatever plan he's crafted? Flip a Coin Day implies that there's a choice that must be made. Early Bird Day may mean that if we're quick enough, we'll have a chance to stop something from happening."
She quickly added, "But these are all just suppositions. There's not enough here to truly prove anything—these dates may not have any connection to the holidays. They may only have meaning to our UNSUB—or maybe they don't have meaning at all. The sad truth is, we simply don't know enough about the Replicator to make a definite connection."
These words brought no comfort to the people seated around the table, and David Rossi felt another wave of anger at how helpless he felt. Shifting the focus to more tangible things, he turned to Penelope Garcia, who looked as if she might faint dead-away at any second, "What's the news from the lab?"
"Well, sir, they've only just started analyzing the photos," she spoke quickly. "Of course, there aren't any finger prints, aside from Chief Strauss'. The photo paper is the same kind that our photos were printed on, and most likely taken by the same camera. I'm sorry, I wish I had more."
He checked his watch—it had been less than an hour since Erin had blown through the doors of the BAU, which meant the lab had been in possession of the photos for less than half an hour, and though their lab techs were pretty damn good, they weren't miracle workers. He gave a slight sigh at the realization that it could be hours before they had anything new to share.
Erin Strauss glanced over at Agent Hotchner and Agent Jareau, who seemed to be handling the news so much better than she was—she realized that was because this wasn't the first time that their sons had been in danger, and she did not envy their calmness (it came with a price that Erin didn't want to pay, with a knowledge that Erin never wanted to have).
The speakerphone in the middle of the table buzzed, and Aaron Hotchner reached forward to answer it, "This is Agent Hotchner."
"Agent Hotchner, this is Mullins, at the front desk. The boys are here. They're being taken to the conference room on the fourth floor."
JJ was already on her feet, and with a quick nod from Hotch, she disappeared.
"We'll send the boys' fingerprints to the local labs to compare with what was found on the three items," Hotch spoke quickly, standing as well. "I want all consults, all other tasks and cases put on-hold until we know exactly what's going on here. We'll reconvene in a few hours to debrief on what we've learned so far."
The team was dismissed and Rossi smoothly walked up to Strauss, his hand on the small of her back as he guided her to his office, "C'mon, bella, let's get you somewhere quiet for a minute."
"I have to see Christopher," she said numbly, trying to turn in the other direction, but David's arm easily hooked around her waist, pulling her back. Luckily for Rossi, Erin was still reeling and weak from shock, or else she probably would've caused more of a ruckus. However, her overwhelming fear made her docile and she simply let him steer her into his office, closing the door behind him.
The gentle click of the door shutting sounded like a shotgun blast in the quiet office, and the physical act of partitioning herself off from the rest of the world was all it took for Erin's defenses to crumble. David turned back to her, wordlessly pulling her into his arms, holding her tightly to keep her from shattering into a thousand pieces, because honestly, she looked like she might do just that.
The unspoken worry and love in his embrace was the final straw, and Erin sobbed into his chest, shaking and sick and filled with the deepest, purest dread that she'd ever felt in her life.
"Calmati, bella," he whispered. "I won't let anything happen to him. He's safe here. We're all safe here."
David's words only intensified the sorrow and panic building in her chest.
He has to know. He has to understand why Christopher is on the list. He has to know. There's no more hiding, no more waiting, no more pushing it away. Tell him, Erin, tell him!
Erin was learning that the voice in her head wasn't always right—this was neither the time nor the place to confess her darkest sins to David, to unveil her secret crimes against him. And right now, her first priority was walking through the doors of the FBI building for the first time in his life.
She bit back another sob, pulling away from him and wiping away her tears. David watched as Erin slowly transformed into Section Chief Strauss; he could almost physically see the pieces of armor clink into place as her shoulders straightened and her breathing evened out.
"I need to see my son now," she stated, smoothing her hands over her wrinkled linen top, pulling the ponytail from her hair and trying to make herself look a little more presentable. David gave a curt nod, opening his door once more and following her down the steps, his hand gently anchoring to her elbow as they moved through the bullpen.
The mere pressure of his fingers on her flesh gave Erin strength, and she was grateful that he did not relinquish his hold the entire journey. His grip tightened slightly as they approached the closed door of the conference room, and she knew that he wasn't just trying to keep her steady—he was also keeping her from bolting, from running madly into the room and dissolving into another puddle of tears as she held her son. He wasn't just taking care of her—he was taking care of Christopher, too. Chris was already frightened and on-edge due to the shock of being whisked away by Federal Agents, and seeing his mother so completely distraught certainly wouldn't help.
His concern for her son (their son) only added to the lump in her throat and the pounding fear in her stomach, but she forced herself to smile as she whispered, "Thank you."
He seemed to understand all that those two simple words encompassed, because he merely nodded in response.
Hotchner and Jareau were already inside, and Erin's mother-heart felt a pang of nostalgia at the sight of Jennifer Jareau huddled in the corner with Henry perched on her lap, whispering quietly in his ear as he played with the watch on her wrist (how many times had she sat, just like that, holding a much-younger Christopher as they waited in doctors' offices or airports or restaurants?). Her own baby was seated at the conference table, fiddling with his cell phone. He looked up whenever he heard the door open—the relief in his expression was enough to spark tears in Erin's eyes once again.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered as she held him tight.
"No one's told me what's going on," Chris pulled back, his dark eyes searching his mother's face. "Where are Jordan and Anna? Why aren't they here?"
And so it begins. Erin blinked back tears, trying to appear calm and brave for her son. "They're safe, darling."
She gently reached forward, almost absentmindedly trying to fix the wayward sprig of hair that never wanted to lay flat, which only made her son look even younger and even more vulnerable. She took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully, "Earlier today, we received an envelope, containing photos of you and these two other boys. We have reason to believe that the person who sent the photos is someone who has been...stalking the BAU for quite some time now."
"But what do we have to do with any of this?" Chris motioned around the room, to Henry and Jack.
"There aren't any rules, where this UNSUB is concerned," Erin felt a small measure of relief in allowing Jordan to read David's books—Chris had overheard enough talk about UNSUBs and M.O.'s and signatures to at least be able to understand what she was saying right now. "He may just be trying to scare us, because we're so close to catching him. We really don't know. We just...we don't want to take any chances."
"But why me? Why weren't there pictures of the girls, too?"
Oh, David, our son is too much like you, too smart and too curious for his own good.
"I don't know," she blinked, her throat tightening at the lie. She caressed his young face reassuringly, "You're safe here."
"Does Dad know?"
Those three words fell like a stone in Erin's stomach. "No, not yet. I'm going back up to my office to call him, and your sisters, too. You'll be put in some kind of protective custody, and I'm having your father take Anna and Jordan back up to Somerset, until this whole thing is settled."
"And how long with that be?" The fear in Christopher's voice was unmistakable.
"I don't know," she admitted softly. "I'm so sorry, baby."
"It's not your fault, Mom," he assured her (in his usual, forgiving, c'est-la-vie way that was simply part of his bright and sweet nature, in the way that most reminded her of his true father).
Oh but it is, her inner voice shouted. There is a reason that your picture was there, and not your sisters'...there is a reason and it's all your mother's fault.
She gave him one last hug (reassuring herself that he was here, he was safe, it was truly going to be alright) before hooking her arm through his, "C'mon. You can hang out in my office for the time being."
Jack Hotchner was already tripping down the hall after his father, excited at the prospect of getting to spend the day watching his hero in action. Agent Jareau was on her feet again, hoisting Henry onto her hip with a motherly ease. Part of Erin wished that Chris was still too young to understand what was happening, that she could simply still smile and tell him that everything was alright, and he would believe her, because she was his mother.
Wish in one hand, spit in the other. See which one fills up faster. Oddly enough, it was her father's voice echoing through her head this time, repeating one of his favorite quips.
"You look like hell, by the way," her son drolly commented, taking away from the seriousness of the moment.
"Today was supposed to be my day off," she returned with an arch of her brow, as if it were his fault that she was called into the office. He turned back to grab his backpack, checking his phone again before slipping it into his pocket.
"And don't you dare post about this on Facebook," she warned him. Her son merely laughed in response.
David was patiently waiting for them in the hallway, and the three silently walked back to the elevators together, her son and her lover standing on either side of her as they traveled up to her office. She silently wondered if David had begun to ask the same questions as Christopher—why weren't Erin's daughters in the photos, too?
After introducing Chris to Carrington, Erin ushered her son into her office, stepping back outside and pulling David into the secluded hallway.
"I think I can convince the director to let the boys stay here, in custody," she whispered, her breath shaking. "After...after what happened to Haley, I think he'll understand—I think he'll understand why having a few guys sitting outside the house simply isn't enough."
David nodded. She continued, "Once everything is settled, we—we need to talk."
"Ok, bella," he said simply. He tenderly caressed the outline of her face. "Just come find me. I'll be here."
"I think," she swallowed nervously. "I think we shouldn't talk here. We should—we should go back to your place."
She didn't want to leave Christopher, but gods, she couldn't tell David here. She wanted him to be in the comfort of his own home, not confined in a small office where his movements and reactions were watched like a goldfish in a bowl. Her lover was a man of dignity, and he deserved the courtesy of not having to learn such heavy truths in a public setting.
He simply nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling in confusion at her words. Pushing aside the questions that her behavior had inspired, he pulled her close again, "I've got to get back to the others. But I'm here. You know I'm here."
"I do," she agreed softly, taking a moment to savor the warmth and softness of his mouth with her own. Silently, she wondered if his words would still ring true tomorrow.
"Paul, it's Erin." She cringed at how stupidly obvious that statement was—he still had her number, he knew it was her the instant he looked at the caller ID on his cell phone.
"Hi," was all he said, and she could hear the uncertainty in his voice.
"Look, I'm sorry to call like this, but I need your help." She bit her lip, glancing around the thankfully-empty hall. Christopher was still in her office, and she didn't want him to witness how awkward things still were between his parents, so she was out here on her cell phone, holding back tears and fighting old fears and praying no one would walk by to witness the train-wreck that was Erin Strauss at the moment.
"What's happened?" The uncertainty was replaced by fear.
"The BAU received a threat today—except the threat wasn't exactly against us." She was getting tired of having to tell this macabre story. "There were photos of Christopher, along with photos of the other agents' sons. We believe the photos were taken by someone who's been stalking the team for the past several months."
"Oh my god, Erin—"
"It's OK, Chris is here, at Quantico with me. He's safe," she spoke quickly, trying to allay Paul's fears. "He's going to be in protective custody until the case is closed."
"What about the girls?"
Gods, that seemed to be the popular question of the day. "They weren't in the photos, so the protective custody doesn't extend to them. But I don't want them in the city. Paul, I need you to take them away. I need you to go to my parents' old house in Somerset and stay there for awhile."
There was a beat, and she knew that his mind was already trying to figure out a way to truly make her request a reality. He didn't complain; he didn't mention the time he'd have to take off work, or how long of a drive it would be, or how it was an inconvenience. He simply did what needed to be done. That was one of the things she'd always liked about him.
"Are you gonna call Jordan, or should I?" He asked.
"I will," Erin felt another ripple of unease pass through her body. Paul might have taken the news with his usual quiet calm, but her high-strung eldest daughter certainly wouldn't.
"How's Chris taking all this?"
Her green eyes flicked back down the hall, to her office door. "He's playing Angry Birds on his phone and cracking jokes."
"In other words, he's scared but he'd rather die than admit it." Paul's tone held the slightest hint of amusement. Erin gave a small hum of agreement, and he added, "He gets that from his mother, you know."
She couldn't help but smile at the assessment. It was true. There was a small pain of nostalgia as Erin realized that to this day, Paul still knew her better than anyone else. They'd known each other for 34 years now, and aside from her parents and siblings, he was the longest relationship in her life.
"And what about you?" Asked the man who'd been a witness to her life ever since the first day of a junior-level political science class all those years ago.
The pragmatic part of Erin's brain said that he shouldn't ask such a question—her emotional welfare was no longer his concern—but the larger part of her heart felt a gentle gratitude for his sense of care. Because, after all, they did still care for one another—how could they not, after all they'd been and done together?
"I'm...I'm not as good at hiding my fear as Chris is," she admitted with a shaky breath. "I never thought that something like this would happen. I still keep hoping to wake up and find that it's all a bad dream."
He made a small sound of agreement. "We'll get through this, Erin. We always do."
No, we don't. We just pretend to, we just move on and skirt past the darker things and we say we get through, but no, the truth is still dragging around our necks like the mariner's albatross. If you even knew exactly what 'this' is, you wouldn't be so sweet and so gentle. You'd run away again, and I wouldn't blame you.
"I know," was all she said.
"Have Jordan call me," he instructed her. "We'll work out travel plans from there. I'll tell Anna."
She nodded, feeling a modicum of relief at the fact that Paul was shouldering this burden with her (although it wasn't his to bear, it wasn't his fault or his past transgressions that led them to this moment). "I'll let you know as soon as I have more information. And Paul?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For not, you know—"
"Erin." He stopped her. "This is our family we're talking about. You don't have to thank me. You know that."
She simply smiled again, "I know."
"And for god's sake, Erin, be careful."
"I will. You, too. Give Anna a big hug for me."
"Do the same for Chris."
"Absolutely." She hung up, taking a deep breath. She and Paul had been a great team, a well-working machine back in their heyday, when they were running around after three bouncing children, and this moment had just reminded her of how easily they'd always fit, how effortlessly they'd always been able to put aside the petty to overcome the serious. There was a warm rush of nostalgia, followed by the bitter aftertaste at the reality of what they'd become. She realized that she actually missed that, missed the feeling of solidarity, the feeling of us, the team aspect of parenting and marriage.
Of course, now's the time you pick to get all teary-eyed and sloppy over days gone by, she rolled her eyes heavenward. But there was a shadow of a whisper deep within her heart (a flicker of intuition?) that informed her that it wasn't just nostalgia running through her veins—this, too, was a moment that might never exist again between her and Paul, because in a few short hours, she would have to finally tell David Rossi the truth, and telling David had the potential to unravel the rest of her life. It could (would) end her relationship with David, and his knowing the truth could domino over into crushing everything that she'd built with Paul, everything that Christopher ever knew or understood about his world. Erin wasn't sure that those relationships, as deep and as true as they may be, could survive such a harsh blow.
The truth will set you free. Free from what? Free to do what? Perhaps Janis Joplin had it right. Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose.
Four unbelievably short hours later, the team reassembled for a briefing. Spencer Reid's prediction came true—the photos were the key to understanding the gifts left behind at the disposal sites. Now that all three sons were safely installed within the concrete walls of the FBI building at Quantico, their fingerprints had been scanned and sent out to the three local labs that first inspected the items. Sure enough, each lab came back with a positive ID—the soccer ball had Jack Hotchner's prints, the cup had Henry's, and the textbook contained Christopher's. The message was loud and clear: Not only can I get close enough to take a photo, I can walk right up and take something from your son's hand.
Derek Morgan's eyes traveled back to the projection screen, where digital copies of the boys' photos were on display. God, he remembered holding Henry when he was first born, remembered how fragile and small the baby was. In the photo, he still looked so small, the top of his head not even reaching his mother's hip as they walked along. And Jack—he remembered when Jack was born, too. Now the kid he affectionately called 'little man' was truly growing up, his face furrowed in concentration as he sprinted across the soccer field in an expression that was remarkably similar to his father's.
He didn't know Strauss' son, but one look at the dark-haired boy in the center of the photograph and he could immediately see the resemblance. And one look at Erin Strauss' pale face informed him that she felt the same terror as Hotch and JJ did at the thought of her child being caught in the Replicator's crosshairs (perhaps even more acutely, because she always seemed more affected by the nature of their job in the first place, less able to handle the unique stressors, to push past the panic to focus on the task ahead).
He gave a frustrated sigh as he sat back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head as his Baby Girl informed the rest of the team of their lack of progress, "I've ran searches on the three dates—the day we received the invisible ink letter, today, and the eight-week mark—against every case we have in the online archives, and so far, there doesn't seem to be anything significant. A couple of arrests, or dates of death, or birthdays, but the people close to those cases are either dead or incarcerated or otherwise unable to pull off something like this."
She clicked the projection screen remote bringing up a new set of images, "However, the lab made a little progress—each photo had a number written on the back, in the upper right corner."
The images were the white backs of the photos, where the spidery script glowed eerily under the UV light—Option #1, Option #2, Option #3.
"Written in invisible ink," Alex finished, leaning forward slightly. If anyone had even a shred of doubt about the source or connection between these photos, the invisible note, and the photos left behind by the Replicator, this new development certainly laid that doubt to rest.
"And the ink source was blood plasma, again—the same blood type that was used in the note," Garcia added.
"Option is a very specific term," Alex's voice became soft, almost as if she were talking to herself. "It implies that a choice has to be made."
"If we are still following the theory that the Replicator specifically chose this date, then I would say the best bet is Flip a Coin Day." Reid interjected, and Alex gave a curt nod of agreement. The young doctor continued, "The practice itself goes back to the Roman tradition of flipping a coin to make decisions—Julius Caesar often flipped coins."
"And we see how well that worked out for him," Rossi interrupted dryly, trying to hide his irritation. Normally, he didn't mind Reid's little history lessons and Blake's insights, but Sweet Jesus in shortpants, they didn't have time for that today.
"So you think that the Replicator is going to make us choose between the boys?" Strauss brought them back to the matter at-hand.
"It seems likely, but a bit illogical," Derek folded his arms across his chest. "Flipping a coin only helps decide between two options, and we've got three."
"Actually, it can be done." Of course, Spencer Reid had a solution. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen to illustrate his point, "If you flip the coin twice, you have four possible outcomes—heads-heads, heads-tails, tails-heads, and tails-tails."
He scribbled HH, HT, TH, TT on the paper. "Now, each option is assigned an outcome—for example, Jack would be double heads, Christopher would be double tails, and Henry would be mixed. Of course, this means that Henry has a 2-to-1 chance of winning over the other two options. In order to ensure a 1-to-1 probability, a fourth option may be added."
"And what would the fourth option be?" Penelope asked, the heavy weight of dread already settling into her stomach.
"There are two possible choices for the fourth option," Reid took a deep breath. "It could mean that nothing happens and the coin toss starts over...or it could mean that all three options lose."
Strauss blanched, and Penelope instinctively reached over and clasped her hand. Strauss held onto the younger blonde for dear life, because right now, it was the only thing that kept the room from spinning.
"Right now, all this is just a theory," Morgan pointed out, his frustration evident. "We don't have anything solid on this guy or what his true plans are."
"That's how he wants it," Rossi spoke up, his mouth setting in a grim line. "He gives us just enough to make us jump to the worst possible conclusion, stringing us along and feeding off our fear and uncertainty. It's the anticipation that gets him."
"So he's a psychological sadist," Blake surmised, and this earned her a slight nod from the older man. "He doesn't need to physically inflict pain to be fulfilled. The emotional torture is enough for him."
"For now," Hotch added, and the already-high tension in the room rose another notch.
"I'll be back in a few hours," Erin promised, grabbing her car keys and checking her cell phone again.
"You should probably just go home and get some sleep," Chris replied, rising to his feet and following her out of the office. The director had followed Erin's suggestion of keeping the boys at Quantico, at least overnight, until a full-scale protection detail could be assigned to each one, and he knew that the standard-issue academy cots weren't going to be exactly comfortable, but at least he was young and could handle it. "Nothing's going to happen to us while we're locked away in here."
As they boarded the elevator, his mother cast him a look which succinctly informed him that she would be back in a few hours. No amount of arguing or pleading or irrefutable logic would sway her from staying by her son's side through the night.
"OK," he held up his hands in surrender. "I'll see ya in a few hours."
The elevator dinged and the doors opened on the sixth floor. With one more hug (that lasted just a little longer than usual), Erin let Christopher enter the BAU, where another small conference room had been temporarily converted into their sleeping quarters. The elevator doors closed and she was alone again, taking a shaky breath as she steeled herself for what was to come.
Aside from Aaron Hotchner and Jennifer Jareau, who were both currently ensconced in the conference room with their sons, the rest of the team had gone home for the night. She had a brief vision of David sitting on his porch, Mudgie resting at his feet as he smoked a cigar, a tumbler of whiskey to soothe the jagged edges left by the day's events. It was a warm picture, and she certainly hoped that was exactly what was happening—that he was finding a moment of peace before she entered to completely rip apart everything he knew.
She felt ill again. Deep down, she'd known this day would come, but she'd never imagined it would be like this.
Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.
*Author's Note: As always, thank you so much to everyone who has left reviews so far. Updates will be coming much more quickly over the next day or so, as I'm trying to wrap up as much of this story as possible before tomorrow's season finale (I want to be able to weave it back into the actual season storyline). And since CM's EP, Erica Messer, has said that one of the team members will die in the finale, let me just say this: If Strauss dies, we riot.*