Retrospect

"Hindsight is 20/20." ~Modern American Proverb

April 1998. Quantico, Virginia.

David Rossi gave a small sigh of satisfaction as he boarded the elevators, leaving the basement offices of the BAU to return to the land of the living. He'd just unpacked his last box of files and office memorabilia, signaling that he was officially "back home" at Quantico, after almost eight years of bouncing around to other field offices. So much had changed, so much had stayed the same.

The elevator doors opened and he exited, making his way through the main entrance and out to his car. He noticed someone walking across the asphalt lot, and he stopped when he realized who it was. Erin Strauss, looking like a million bucks in her oversized dark shades and her pencil skirt (since when did she wear skirts? Erin had always been the kid in the loose slacks or faded jeans, almost hyper-masculine in her attire, and suddenly, here she was, looking like she'd walked straight out of Vogue). Her heels were completely impractical for field work, which must have meant that she'd gone back to being a full-time analyst. Her long blonde locks had been replaced by a non-nonsense bob, her hair was a shade or two darker (more brunette, more "sensible" and serious), and she was even wearing lipstick (red, no less).

Apparently a lot had changed over the past five years. He remembered Don Adams' words from over a decade ago—she's a fast-tracker. He'd noticed it before, but now it was a different kind of vibe. Before, she'd been almost childish in her pursuit of perfection, in her attempts to always be the best and the brightest, in her need to be loved and adored, in her obsessive overachievement, in her near-manic need to be taken seriously. Now, she was still obviously an overachiever (some things could never change, and that was too firmly rooted in her personality), a golden-child-to-be, but there was a new confidence, a sense of assurance to her gait which lent her frame a more graceful air. She didn't need to be taken seriously, because she took herself seriously, she commanded respect rather than demanding it. Erin Strauss had finally, truly come into her own at the Bureau.

She recognized him as well, because she stopped for a full beat, the surprise evident in her face, though it was half-hidden by her shades.

Erin Strauss felt her stomach clench in fear and uncertainty at the sight of David Rossi. The last time that she had seen David, he was lying in a hotel bed in Seattle, grinning devilishly at her. Then he'd disappeared as soon as her back was turned. Truly, it wasn't his departure that had created this visceral reaction in her, but rather what he'd left behind—a small piece of himself that had grown inside of her, entering the world nine months later in the form of a beautiful baby boy.

That beautiful baby boy was approaching his fourth birthday, and Erin had been content in the fact that she'd never see his real father again.

And yet here he was, wearing that same grin as he walked up to her, "Hey there, kitten."

The warm affection in his voice was unmistakable, and it was enough to melt Erin's knees. How did he do that—how did he sap every ounce of strength from her body with a grin and a greeting?

"Hey there, Dave-O," she forced herself to grin, swallowing the fear and something else that rose in her chest, her skin fluttering with that old familiar tingling that always appeared whenever he approached her.

"You look good, Erin," his eyes traveled her form with a sense of appreciation that she hadn't seen in years. That look used to make her flush in the most pleasant of ways, but now it just filled her with guilt (don't you know what happened the last time you looked at me that way?).

"I didn't know you were back," she easily ignored the compliment, steering the subject to safer ground.

"Just unpacked the last box," he admitted. He could sense a strange anxiety radiating from Erin's pores, and he wondered what he'd done to make her so skittish (sure, he'd left the hotel without saying goodbye that morning, but that was years ago, and really, surely she'd understood why….a fling's a fling, right?).

"So, you got the spot in ViCAP," he guessed, motioning to her wardrobe.

"Yes, yes I did," she answered quickly, giving an almost-shy smile that reminded him of the younger version of herself, the one he remembered and found endearing. Then she gave a nod towards the building, "Speaking of, I've got to get back to work. It was nice seeing you, David."

She offered one last smile (flat, without warmth, didn't reach her eyes), ducked her head and clipped away in her high heels.

Nice seeing you, David. What the hell had he done to make her treat him like a passing acquaintance, like some old high school classmate, whom you had nothing in common with anymore, but whom you politely suffered because at one time, you shared a few laughs? Their strange and twisting relationship had taken many turns over the past thirteen years, but she'd never been so impersonal, not even when she was pissed as hell at him. Five years ago, she would have greeted him with a true, deep smile, she would have hugged him before she walked away, she wouldn't have shifted away when he came closer, wouldn't have bit her lip nervously as if she feared what he might do.

David wasn't exactly sure what he'd expected from her, after five years of separation and silence. He wasn't sure what she expected from him, either. But he knew he didn't want this, whatever it was.

He gave an exasperated chuckle at the realization that, once again, Erin Strauss had not reacted in the way that he'd expected her to. And once again, he was left confused and conflicted by a simple interaction with the blonde sphinx. So much had changed, so much had stayed the same.

May 2013. Rural Virginia.

There were different levels of knowing, David suddenly realized with stunning clarity.

He'd known, the first time that he'd lain with Erin, that what they were doing was wrong—they were both married at the time, and there was no two ways about the fact that they'd been unfaithful, that they'd broken vows made before God, to people they loved. He'd never confessed those dark sins to his priest, because he was self-aware enough to know that if the temptation presented itself again, he'd take it. It's not true repentance if you aren't truly regretful of your actions, and certainly not if you know that you won't even try to resist it again.

He'd known that she had a husband, her college sweetheart, who seemed by all accounts a nice guy. Even the later times, when he'd been divorced or separated or single, he'd still known that she was still very much married, and that had never stopped him from falling into her arms without the slightest hesitation.

He'd known, but he hadn't known. That was why he'd been so angry at her nine years ago, at the Christmas ball, when he'd met Paul Strauss for the first time—because he went from knowing to knowing, he'd always known about Paul, but now he knew him, knew what his voice sounded like, knew his sense of humor and his cologne, knew how easily he moved around Erin, knew what it was like to see Paul's hands on Erin's skin, knew he was a good man who loved Erin and whom Erin loved in return, and that suddenly added weight and resonance to exactly what they'd done.

The next time he was with Erin, she'd left Paul, and she was free—for the first time ever, they were both free, and it was a beautiful thing. The guilt of knowing was gone.

But there were still deeper levels of knowing. He'd always known that after they'd spent a few glorious hours together, Erin had returned back to her husband, back to her perfect slice of Americana, and deep down, he'd also known that she'd continued making love with Paul, raising a family with him and doing all the things that spouses tend to do. He didn't really spend a lot of time thinking about it, and it had never really bothered him, because after all, he'd done the same thing, returning to his wife, or to a girlfriend, or simply picking up a cute chick at a book signing. It was fair, and it was what they'd agreed to, and it didn't really matter. But now it did matter. It mattered very much.

It mattered because now, he truly knew what it meant. It meant that Erin taken him in, so sweetly and passionately, and then returned to her husband with the same ardor and affection, all the while carrying evidence of her tryst with David, allowing Paul to think that he was the only possible father of her son. She'd named the child after Paul, had let him spend many sleepless nights crooning and worrying over the infant, had let him teach Christopher how to throw a baseball or how to set up a tent, had lured him into a false sense of security and pride in the son that wasn't really his. It meant that Erin had built the palace of her life on a foundation of lies, that she'd smiled in the face of both men, had taken both their beating hearts in her cold hands and manipulated them into believing that what they didn't know, didn't exist. It meant that she'd lulled them into a false sense of security, with the willful cunning and true knowledge of a predator laying a trap for her unsuspecting prey. It meant that the past two decades had simply been part of some intricate charade, a distraction from the truth. It meant that everything between them had been a smaller part of a greater lie (even the tender parts, even the beautiful parts, even the loving parts).

And now, he truly understood every interaction between them after that fateful night in Seattle—his mind replayed every single moment that he could remember from the last twenty years, little gestures and odd behaviors and nuances of their relationship suddenly making perfect sense. That was why she'd acted so strangely, when he'd transferred back to Quantico. That was why she'd been so mournful during their fight over her promotion. That was why she'd asked him to make her forget, the second time in Seattle, after her mother's death. The same room. She booked the same room. That wasn't a coincidence by a long shot.

If it hadn't been for the Replicator, she would have never told him. David was certain of that. She had twenty fucking years to say something, and she chose now—now, when Christopher's life was in danger, when he'd been drawn into this elaborate, twisted game?

Christopher.

The mere thought of his son's name (his son!) was enough to stop David's heart in his chest. Erin had known the whole time, had even let them meet each other—how quietly she'd watched the two talk as they grilled in her backyard, how she'd laughed at their jokes together over lunch, how she'd been perfectly content to let them live on in complete ignorance to their true connection. It was so willful, so knowing. That was the most painful part.

She'd stolen so much from him—so many memories, so many chances, so many moments. And why? Because she feared disrupting her perfect little life. Because she wanted to have her cake and eat it, too. Because she had obviously never loved David, not truly, not in the way that mattered most.

Even in his anger and self-pity, David Rossi knew that was untrue. Erin was many things (most of them unfavorable right now), but most importantly, she was a woman who was fiercely devoted and protective of her children. Whatever her reasons for hiding the truth, whatever her excuses, whatever her motivation for finally coming clean, they all revolved around her children. He knew that. And whatever pain that she'd caused, whatever wounds she'd inflicted on David's soul, she had done it with reluctance, with fearful hesitancy, because she loved him. He knew that, too.

He wished he didn't. He wanted to be furious with her, wanted to hate her, wanted to be able to completely obliterate any sense of sympathy or empathy for the blonde, wanted to be the one who was right, wanted her to be the one who was wrong, and yet….and yet.

Ignorance truly was bliss. It would be so much easier if he didn't understand her reasoning, on some level. Then he could simply hate her. It would be so much easier if he could hate her. Then the pain wouldn't be so deep. But the truth of the matter was the aching opposite of easy: he didn't hate her, and the pain was all the deeper because of it.

Damn you, Erin. Damn you for making me love you. Damn you to hell.

Quantico, Virginia.

Blood. That was surprising. Erin dabbed her nose again, creating more red stains on the tissue. She glanced up at her haggard reflection—her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, and what was left of her mascara had traveled into the now-deep grooves under her eyes.

She turned on the sink and began to wash her face, suddenly clutching the edges of the sink as another wave of nausea rolled from her stomach to her brain. Gods, she hated being sick. She especially hated being sick in public settings, like her current location, the sixth floor women's bathroom down the hall from the BAU. Ever since she'd left David's house, she'd been ill, vomiting even though there was nothing left in her stomach, and now her heaving had apparently been violent enough to burst a blood vessel in her nose. Her diaphragm hurt from the constant strain, her legs were weak and wobbly, and her pounding headache was now heading into the fifth consecutive hour of constant throbbing. Her mind couldn't handle the stress anymore, and it was seeping into her body, manifesting itself in painfully physical ways.

She'd known, with frightful clarity, that telling David was only the beginning. Now that he knew the truth, he had the power to destroy everything else—he could tell Paul, he could tell Christopher, he could tell Anna and Jordan, he could shatter what was left of her life and the other people whom she loved. The night had seemed eternal as her mind constantly looped possible scenarios—each outcome more debilitating than the last. She would end up alienated from everything and everyone she knew and loved. She would end up alone, utterly alone, cast into a dark, cold place away from the sunshine of her children's love, from Paul's gentle compassion, from David's touch of life, from every chance of happiness or redemption of any form.

Now she truly understood why some convicted felons welcomed their executions. The anticipation and dread made one feel like walking death, and at least actual death was swifter and less painful, in some ways.

She didn't have the right to ask David not to tell Paul or Christopher. She couldn't ask him to pretend as if nothing had happened (not anymore, not this time, things were forever changed in that respect), and honestly, she couldn't fault him for wanting to claim his own son.

She blotted her face dry with the rough paper towels, cringing as she thought about the effects on her skin. She glanced at her watch, grimacing at the time. She needed to go back upstairs to her office, to put on her makeup and the clothes that she'd brought back with her. With another grimace, she lightly raked her fingers through her hair, trying to make it look semi-presentable. She had a hair clip in her bag upstairs as well; she'd definitely have to pin her hair up to avoid looking like she'd just walked out of a scene from Les Misérables.

The bathroom door opened and Jennifer Jareau appeared, looking as beat-up as Erin felt. Her husband had joined them last evening, and she knew that the two had not been getting along well—Will was using this as another example for why JJ should leave the FBI. Erin remembered similar conversations with Paul whenever Chris and Jordan were Henry's age (by the time Anna was born, Paul had realized that it was futile, and had stopped pushing for her to pull back from her work), and she felt a pang of sympathy for the younger woman. As if the stress and fear of having your child targeted by a serial killer wasn't enough.

One of the sad truths that Erin had learned over the years was that stress and tragedy rarely actually brought people together—more often than not, it tore them apart. She hoped that didn't happen to JJ and Will.

Agent Jareau plopped her go-bag onto the floor beside the sink, making a face as she took in her appearance.

"Hotch says the director is assigning a full-complement protective detail for each of the boys today," the younger woman announced, after a beat of silence.

Erin nodded slowly. She didn't want to think ahead, didn't want to think about today, because today would be the first day of the rest of her life without David Rossi, the first day of learning how not to look at him, of figuring out how to not to ache whenever he was near, of pretending that nothing had happened.

She felt ill again, leaning forward as she swooned with nausea once more.

"Are you alright?" JJ was suddenly at her side, her hand gently holding Erin's elbow (just like David had done, less than a day ago), her face filled with concern.

"I'm not feeling well," Erin admitted, too tired to care about how weak she must look.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" JJ's voice was soft, knowing.

Erin shook her head and JJ's hand traveled upward, gently rubbing the woman's back in a comforting gesture.

"I didn't, either," the younger woman admitted, and somehow, the confession served as a moment of camaraderie between the two. For several moments, neither one spoke as JJ continued her motions and Erin silently accepted her comfort.

"I don't know how to do this," Erin broke the silence, her green eyes staring blankly down at the sink.

"No one does, really," JJ replied quietly. "You just do it. Because there isn't really an alternative."

Erin seemed to understand, because she gave a small nod. JJ offered a hopeful smile as she added, "Besides, you've got Dave to help you through it. He's a good man; he'll do whatever it takes—"

She was interrupted by a sharp sob from the older woman, who clamped her hand over her mouth, trying to hold back another flood of tears as her body shuddered with unvoiced wails of sorrow.

JJ stood there, absolutely thunderstruck. She could almost physically feel the energy in the room shift as Erin Strauss seemed to pull entirely into her own self, shuttering away from the rest of the world, taking all the air and the tears and trapping them inside her lungs.

She didn't know whether to comfort Erin or to leave her alone—she didn't want to make things worse by doing something to push Strauss over the edge, but she couldn't let her simply cry without offering some kind of solace. Risking reprimand and possible bodily harm, JJ chose to go for comfort. She stood at Erin's side, wrapping her arms around the older woman in an awkward hug. She didn't try to quieten her, or tell her that everything would be OK, or soothe away her tears in any way. She simply held her until the tears subsided.

Jennifer Jareau was struck by how Erin Strauss wept—she was weeping, not crying, in deep, sorrowful sobs that one usually only experienced during times of purest grief, at the loss of loved ones, at tragedy. These tears were not shed in fear of what may come. They were shed in mourning for what was lost.

There was more to this than met the eye. JJ felt a tremor of intuition—it had to involve David's relationship with Strauss—and she prayed that she was wrong. Deep down, she knew she wasn't. She thought back to the previous day, and how the two had acted around each other—Rossi had been gentle and caring, and Strauss seemed to rely on his support. After the second briefing, she'd seen them in his office, their chairs pulled so close that their knees were touching, their hands quietly and lovingly intertwining as they spoke in hushed tones, physically and verbally reassuring each other that everything was OK. Erin had been trembling and nervous, but JJ had chalked it up to the sheer terror inspired by finding the photos.

Something had happened in the past twelve hours. Something very, very bad and very powerful, to reduce the hardest ass in the Bureau into the unrecognizable person weeping in JJ's arms.

Erin was past the point of caring—she simply sagged into the younger woman's embrace, letting the poisonous feelings tumble out of her body. She never should have done this, never should have let things get so beautiful and wonderful between her and David, never should have told him the truth, never should have let him follow her into her room that fateful night twenty years ago, never should have put her heart in such a position to be completely obliterated. Never, never, never.

Rural Virginia.

The sun was rising, and David felt the weight of reality pressing on his chest once more. He was going to have to walk into that building and pretend as if nothing was wrong. He was going to have to spend the entire day near Erin Strauss, near their son. It would be one of the most painful things he'd ever done (almost as painful as watching that impossibly small coffin sink into the ground all those years ago, strangely similarly painful to holding Carolyn in his arms as her spirit left her body, more painful than the quiet moments spent in strangers' homes, notifying them of their loss), and yet, he would do it. He would do it, because regardless of how he felt about Erin, their son needed them.

Their son. What a strange and painful concept.

He was standing in the foyer, his keys in his hand as he stared into the living room, where the manila envelope still rested on the coffee table.

This is yours now.

He still hadn't opened it. He wasn't ready to face whatever further truths the seemingly harmless envelope contained. Part of him realized that he would never be ready, but he certainly wasn't able to handle it today. Today, he simply needed to survive. With a heavy sigh, he tore his gaze away from the envelope and walked out into the cool, calm morning.

Quantico, Virginia.

Spencer Reid felt like he was in a horror film—he could hear the ominous approach of footsteps, the pace increasing as the sound came closer, echoing eerily in the halls, which were practically empty at this early hour.

More out of curiosity than fear, he turned around. He was immediately greeted by a warm smile and green eyes that seemed oddly familiar.

"Could you point me in the direction of the Behavioral Analysis Unit?"

He motioned in the direction that he was walking. "Straight ahead. Perhaps I could help you?"

Those green eyes quickly appraised him before stating, "You must be Dr. Spencer Reid."

The owner of those green eyes was at least nine inches shorter than he was, with blazing red hair and tattoos and an amused smile.

"I am. How did you know?"

"You're exactly as David described you," she answered simply, offering a hand. "Jordan Strauss."

He took a moment to look at the proffered hand, whose wrist bore Hebrew script, "I don't really do—"

"Oh, not a problem," she quickly retracted her hand with a slight shrug. "My boss is the same way. Would you mind showing me where—"

"Yeah, it's right this way," he started walking again, and she fell into sync with him. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye again, trying to piece together this new mystery that had appeared.

Strauss. So this had to be Erin's eldest daughter, though with her new hair color and slightly smudged dark makeup (it looked as if she was wearing last night's eye shadow), she didn't resemble the fresh-faced young girl from Erin's framed photos that Spencer had seen almost a decade ago when he'd first come to the BAU. She was wearing a fitted t-shirt, adorned with a studded and bejeweled outline of Bellatrix LeStrange, with a charcoal pencil skirt and sensible pumps. She had a tattoo of an ouroboros on her left foot, with Hebrew on her left wrist and another language (perhaps an African dialect?) on her right. Around her neck was a saint's pendant (maybe St. Bede?), a star of David, the Hand of Fatima, and some kind of unhewn stone. She carried a big distressed leather purse, also studded, and a black duffel bag. She was the walking epitome of their generation—contradictions and eccentricities, childish surrealism laced into the corset of adult pragmatism, self-assured and self-conscious at the same time, precariously perched on the brink between naiveté and cynicism.

The epitome didn't speak the rest of the journey, but the silence seemed comfortable, so Reid didn't try to force awkward small talk—in fact, he was grateful that he didn't have to.

Chief Strauss was already in the bullpen, and she looked like she'd been through absolute hell. Reid heard a small mew of surprise from the young woman beside him as she bolted towards her mother.

As the eldest daughter of an eldest daughter, Jordan Elaine Strauss was genetically predisposed to be two things: a fixer and a nurturer. When she saw her mother's face, everything within her cried out to make everything better, even though she didn't know how.

She pulled her mother into an embrace, squeezing her tightly. This time, Erin didn't cry (she never did, not in front of her kids, she never knew why, though), she simply took a deep breath and accepted her daughter's affection.

After a beat, she spoke, "You're supposed to be in Somerset by now."

"I was going to…but about an hour out of the city, I turned back around," her daughter confessed, stepping back to grab the duffel bag again. "I went to Chris' place and got his things. He text me and told me what he needed."

At that moment, Chris appeared in the doorway. "Bout time you got here, Dannie."

"You knew that she was coming back here, and you didn't think I should know?" Erin turned to her son.

"We knew you'd flip if you found out," Jordan answered quickly. She gave a helpless gesture, "I couldn't let you face this alone, Mom."

"Does it look like I'm alone?" She motioned to the entire BAU suite.

Jordan gave her a slightly admonishing look, "You know what I mean."

"How did you even get in the building?"

"Carrington cleared everything for me."

Erin Strauss made a mental note to give her receptionist a right royal ass chewing the next time that she saw her.

Her daughter seemed to read her mind, because she lightly placed her hands on Erin's shoulder as she said quietly, "Look, I'm just here until Chris' detail shows up. Then we'll both go back to your place—since I highly doubt you're going to let him go back to his dorm room—and we'll spend the rest of the day watching People's Court and I'll kick his ass in a game of pool—"

"Yeah right," Chris huffed. "I could beat you with one hand tied behind my back."

Jordan ignored his comment, offering her mother a reassuring smile. "It's gonna be OK. Dad and Anna are safe in Massachusetts, me and Chris are safe here. If I'm with him, I'll be surrounded by the Bureau's own goon squad. It's gonna be fine; I promise."

Erin knew her daughter too well—she knew that Jordan had come back, because like Erin, she was driven by this neurotic belief that by simply being with Christopher, she could protect him from all harm. It was the maternal instinct of elder sisters that Erin understood, because she'd felt it towards her own three younger siblings long before she'd had children of her own. And she had a point—as long as she was with her brother, she would be benefiting from his protective detail as well. Apparently, Christopher had kept his sister updated on current events, since she knew that he was being released later that morning. The detail was supposed to stay inside Erin's house, with her son at all times, and though it didn't remove all fear from her mind, she knew it was the most logical accommodation, since no one had the slightest clue how long the Replicator would remain at-large.

"I'm going up to my office to change." She announced. Jordan simply nodded, tossing the duffel bag to her brother and following him into the small conference room.

Spencer Reid was at his desk, but he was still observing the scene unfolding before him. The section chief turned and gave him a dark look, and he slowly turned his chair away, shuffling through the papers on his desk. Fighting back a slight wave of satisfaction at the fact that her Ice Queen powers were still intact, Erin headed back to her office.

The lights were still out in the reception area—it would be another hour before Carrington showed up, and boy, was Erin going to make her regret coming into work today—and Erin breezed back into her office, not even bothering to turn on any lights, since the sickly grey light of day was already filling the office. She grabbed the dress and matching jacket that were hanging on the back of her door and turned to get dressed.

Fatigue suddenly hit her like a semi-truck, and the little black couch in the corner of her office was practically singing a siren song to her worn and weary body. She tossed the clothing into the chair in front of her desk, slowly climbing onto the couch. She hadn't slept at all last night, sick from her confession, filled with fear—she'd simply watched Christopher as he slept, her heart breaking over and over again at how young and innocent he seemed, how much like his father, how he was just another victim in the shipwreck of her life. But now, the darkness of night had passed, the office was quiet and the couch was comfortable and her limbs had stopped shaking and her tiredness overcame her nausea and all she wanted to do was close her eyes, just for a few moments.

Her bones seemed to melt into the soft cushions, her whole body relishing the feeling as she curled into a ball, her head nestling into the arm rest.

Something pricked her senses—a dark, warm scent. The smell of David, from the time he'd lain here, in her arms, the night that she truly felt like he let her in, the night she truly got to prove that she could be what he needed, that she could help him heal, the beautifully peaceful night that they'd truly become something more.

She turned her face into the dark leather, trying to recapture the feeling of love and security which that scent once held for her. But now there was a dull, empty ache, the desolate knowledge that what had been would never be again. Her body shuddered with silent sobs as the tears came once more, washing away the remnants of the aroma, the last testament to the little golden moment that had been born here, and she found it fitting—destroying every last bit of the good that remained.