Siege

"The question has been silently asked and silently answered, it seems. They are both afflicted and blessed, full of shared secrets, striving every moment. They are both impersonating someone. They are weary and beleaguered; they have taken on such enormous work." ~Michael Cunningham, The Hours.

*Author's Note: This is the last full chapter I'd written before the season eight finale...although, actually, it didn't change my original ending, so there's a silver lining amidst it all, I suppose. As always, thanks to everyone who has left reviews so far. I'll stay true to CM canon, but I've got a few more stories to tell within this story before we wrap this thing up...just hang with me, mkay?*

May 2013. Quantico, Virginia.

The Behavioral Analysis Unit was filled with laughter. David Rossi frowned slightly at the sound, wondering if he'd somehow slipped into a parallel universe. Then he heard it—two distinct voices, working together to weave some fantastical tale.

Jordan and Christopher were in the bullpen, their storytelling antics amusing Garcia and Morgan. Blake was simply shaking her head with a dry smile, and even though Reid was at his desk, Rossi could tell that he was listening as well.

The sound of Christopher's voice created a physical pain in David Rossi, and he fought every urge to turn around, walk back to his car, and drive as far away as possible. With a deep breath, he pushed through the glass doors, trying to look nonchalant.

The two bright and eager youths spotted him immediately.

"David!" The joy in Jordan's voice was unmistakable. As usual, Christopher was more reserved, but he still smiled warmly at the older man. That simple smile was enough to break David's heart.

Fortunately, David Rossi had many years' worth of practice in hiding his grief, and he forced a smile, hugging the young woman who practically bounded up to him. Christopher didn't get up from his chair, and David was grateful for that—if he actually embraced his long-lost son, he might break down into tears then and there.

"Mom went up to her office to change," Jordan informed him, unknowingly causing another pin-prick in his heart. "We're just waiting for the protective details to show up, so we can go back to Mom's house."

"Aren't you supposed to be out of the state?" He changed the subject, not wanting his sorrow to show.

She gave a sheepish smile. "I am. I just—I couldn't leave my baby brother to the wolves."

The honest affection in her voice was another blow. God, these children. Their painful innocence would be the death of him.

David quickly made his excuses, assuring them that he would say goodbye before they left as he retreated to his office. He closed the door behind him, slumping against the heavy metal door as his entire body felt the relief of being away from prying eyes.

After a few deep breaths, he moved to his desk, angling his chair so that he could look out into the bullpen, pretending to read over a file while his eyes followed the young man who suddenly seemed to bear such a striking resemblance that David wondered how he hadn't noticed it before. Deep down, he knew the answer—people didn't look for things like that when they didn't believe them to be possible.

Now, he knew it was not only possible, but an actual reality, and now, the truth was as plain as day. His chin, his nose, the amused arch of his brow, those all came from Erin, but there were other things, smaller, less discernible things, which had the distinct stamp of David Rossi. The way Christopher, despite his gregariousness and warmth, still seemed distant, almost aloof, even as he told jokes to the other agents. The easiness of his laughter, the color of his eyes, the shade of his skin, the frankness of his speech.

He did things, things that were just you.

The sound of Erin's voice in his head was another source of sorrow, just another phantom of something that never was.

He watched the way Erin's two children interacted—the way Jordan stood next to Chris' chair, her hand lightly resting on the back, almost protectively, reassuringly (letting him know that she was still there, letting herself know that he was still safe), the simple easy camaraderie that only siblings could share, the way they chose laughter instead of fear, the youthful belief that no real harm could ever come to them.

Again, he felt a prick of understanding—Erin had wanted to preserve this, this sweet happiness between her children, this blissful ignorance that they shared with the rest of her family, the rest of the world. Twelve short hours ago, he'd shared in that oblivion, and part of him actually wished he still did.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp rap on his door, which opened to reveal the haggard face of Aaron Hotchner.

"Been here long?" The younger man asked softly.

"Just sat down."

Hotch, with his strange politesse, wouldn't actually enter David's office until he was invited to do so. Rossi motioned to the chair across from him. "Wanna join?"

With a grateful nod, Aaron closed the door behind him, sitting down with a heavy sigh. He usually wasn't the type to chit-chat, or to discuss his emotions in any scope during work hours, but the older man could tell that Aaron Hotchner was in desperate need of two things—a friend and a patient ear. Truth be told, David was in desperate need of those two things as well, but he was far from ready to talk about his own problems at the moment.

"No new developments?" David guessed, and Aaron simply shook his head.

"Strauss is meeting with the director right now, to finalize the details on protective custody," Hotch's eyes remained trained on the older man, looking for any clues. JJ had already quietly informed him that there might be some storm brewing between Rossi and Strauss (she didn't tell him everything, couldn't bring herself to mention Erin's tears, or how absolutely shattered the woman seemed), and that truly was the last thing that this case needed.

However, Dave simply nodded. "So...Haley's sister is coming in to keep Jack?"

"For the time being," Aaron ducked his head. He quietly added, "I want to ask Beth to come back, to stay with Jack...because I know that it will mean that she'll be safe as well. I don't think...I don't think I could go through that again."

David didn't ask what that was. He knew. And he understood. After Carolyn's death, David thought he couldn't ever survive a loss as deep as that again. Sadly, it seemed that recent events were going to test that theory.

"Do you think she'll be able to leave New York?" David asked gently. Aaron gave a slight shrug, and the simple gesture spoke volumes—he wasn't sure that he had the right to ask her. "If you're worried about her, then tell her, Aaron. She knows what you've been through; she'll understand."

David felt his throat tightening at his own words. Really, he wasn't the one to give relationship advice, especially when every word out of his mouth only deepened the sense of loss and sorrow building in his chest.

There was another giggle from Penelope Garcia, which drew David's attention back out to the bullpen. It was always a strange thing, that humans could always find ways to laugh amidst times of darkness and fear. It was part of their strength, part of their healing resiliency, part of the mystery of humanity. He took a moment to observe the source of Garcia's mirth—his son, who was also smiling, though much more reservedly. David did some quick mental math—Christopher would be nineteen next month, in that strange space between teen and adult, his life still filled with so many uncertainties and unknown challenges, and right now, he was the target of some sadistic bastard, all because of a stupid mistake that his parents made one night.

Wait a minute.

How did the Replicator know?

"Erin." The deep timbre of the director's voice stopped her in her tracks. She turned back around, thinking perhaps that he'd forgotten some last missive—they'd just wrapped up the protective custody briefing, and she was anxious to get back to her children before they were whisked away.

She stood perfectly still, waiting for him to catch up. They'd been relative strangers when he stepped into the position four years ago, but they worked well together, because he was good at giving orders and she was good at enforcing them. He wasn't the best director she'd worked under, but he wasn't the worst, either, so she tolerated him with an easy civility, because it was simply politics, and that was a game that she played quite well.

"You don't look well, Erin," he lowered his voice, the corners of his eyes crinkling in concern.

"I haven't slept," she admitted, not really sure why it was any of his damn business.

"Do you...do you think you might need to go to a meeting?"

She blinked at the words, which came like a slap in the face. She heard her own shocked voice whisper, "Excuse me?"

"Times like this can be stressful," he seemed unaware of how his words had affected her. His hand was gently cupping her wrist in a gesture that was meant to be caring, and Erin Strauss fought every urge not to rip away from his grasp.

Stressful. If you only knew.

"I haven't had a drink in eleven months, sir," she cleared her throat, trying to keep her tone neutral. Inwardly, she teetered between frustrated tears (how strange, how often and how easily she seemed to cry lately) and venomous indignation. She took another deep breath to steel herself. "I didn't have one yesterday, and I won't have one today, and I can honestly say that I don't think I'll have one tomorrow. I understand your concern, but I assure you, right now, the last thing I need to do is sit in some church basement for hours on end while a psychopath stalks my team and my son."

He gave a curt nod, suddenly realizing that he'd offended her with his insinuations.

"Anything else, sir?" His hand was still on her wrist, and it was pushing the limits of her legendary patience when it came to politics and politesse.

He gave another smile (one that did not reach his eyes), and offered her a friendly pat on the shoulder. "That's all, Chief."

"Thank you, sir." Fuck you very much, sir.

June 2012. Vienna, Virginia.

Erin's hand gave the slightest tremor as she clutched the heavy glass tumbler. Despite her long and varied experience with escapades in alcohol, that still surprised her. After all, she'd been stone-cold sober for months now. Apparently a few months couldn't erase years' worth of conditioning, because she could already feel the ache seeping up the back of her rib cage (gods, she hadn't craved like that since she left the drink tank), the familiar pull both comforting and disconcerting.

Today Christopher was eighteen years old. On this day eighteen years ago, Paul had held her hand as she pushed and panted and cried and cursed, had beamed with pride as the nurse presented them with the fruits of Erin's labor—a tiny, very red and very loud baby boy. Erin had feared this moment for so long—the moment she would know the truth about the child she'd carried, the panic that she would suddenly feel guilty or unable to love him. She'd seen the thick, dark hair, and her suspicions had been confirmed. And despite her fears, she had found that she loved the babe all the more.

"He's perfect," she'd whispered through the tears, and Paul had agreed. And once he'd left, along with the doctors and nurses, and she had been left alone with her son, cocooned in the soft hour afforded by the relatively-new hospital policy of skin-to-skin contact, she had carefully cataloged every finger and every toe, had slipped off the little hat to lightly caress the symbol of his true paternity, had wondered softly at the miracle that now rested between her breasts. This is my son. This is my son with David.

This fragile, tiny thing had been her secret, her sweet gift, and though she had known that he would be the source of so much anxiety later on in life, she had realized that she could never regret what she'd done to bring him into this world.

In that moment, she'd realized that she truly cared for David Rossi, despite all the fights and harsh words, despite all the fear and worry their last moments together had created. It was different from the way she loved Paul, but it was still true.

Eighteen years later, all those conflicting feelings were still true. She still loved Christopher just as fiercely as she did the first time she held him in her arms (perhaps even more so); she still cared for Paul and she still cared for David.

A month ago, she'd asked David Rossi to let her get a year of sobriety under her belt before they took their first steps towards something new. He'd agreed, and she'd felt the first flutter of hope in her heart, after so many dark months. But now, her hope was replaced by reality—if they moved forward, then he would eventually have to meet her children. He would have to meet Christopher, and then he'd know.

Eighteen years and nine months ago, she'd begun the first threads of a delicately-spun deceit. And every day, she felt herself moving one step closer to having it all unravel. She took a sip of the amber-colored liquid, grimacing at the bitter taste but welcoming the burn. She knew she would regret this tomorrow morning, but for now, it was a much needed distraction.

The bright and shining jewel at the center of this cleverly-crafted lie was pulling up into her driveway now (she could hear his speakers blaring from a block away, and she fought down a wave of irritation—how many times had she told him to turn that music down?). The music died and she heard the car door slam. She took another sip, and suddenly, the taste was unbearable.

Today was Christopher's birthday. Today was the day she'd taken the first drink in almost six months. Was she really using her son as her drinking excuse? The thought made her feel dirty, made her feel horrible, terrible, the worst kind of mother.

No. She'd been to hell and back, she'd lived through the aching nights of withdrawal, the humiliation of check-ins with her superiors, the disappointed looks of her children, the loss of Paul—and all for what? So that she could simply slip back into the bottle, back into the downward spiral that would only end when she was dead?

The front door opened and Christopher's voice called out, "The birthday boy has arrived!"

She poured the liquid down the sink, grabbed what was left of the bottle and tossed it in the trash can with a satisfying thud, turning to smile brightly at the young man who walked into the kitchen.

Gods, he looked so much like his father, with his dancing dark eyes and easy smile. Her heart swelled with love and pride at the person he'd become, and secretly, she knew that if David ever met him, he'd be proud, too (if he ever knew, if she ever had the courage to tell him).

Life was still so beautiful, despite her best attempts to fuck it up. She'd raised three brilliant, healthy, happy children, had shared some good moments and tender times with a man who'd loved her (though in the end, it wasn't enough, but still, there was still so much good), and now she had the promise of something deeper with a man who'd captured some part of her soul years ago.

She'd never take another drink again. She knew that, with a strange sense of calm that settled into her bones, bubbling back through her body in a joyous euphoria.

Her sweet son was hugging her now, his typical greeting now that he'd moved off to college (he was starting to truly appreciate his mother, now that he wasn't living under her roof). She held onto him for just a few seconds longer, smiling as she held her life's greatest secret, and one of her life's greatest joys.

"Happy birthday, baby."

May 2013. Quantico, Virginia.

Grey leather Dior heels tapping double-time through the halls, Erin Strauss' mind was focused on one thing: getting to Christopher and Jordan before they went back home with the protective detail. She breezed through the double glass doors, her eyes automatically flying to David's office. The door was closed, but she could see his silhouette through the window. The simple knowledge that he was so close was enough to make her stomach flip and her mouth dry.

At Erin Strauss' arrival, David Rossi sat up slightly, his whole body tensing as if he'd been shocked. This, of course, did not escape Aaron Hotchner's quick gaze, and suddenly the younger man knew that JJ's warning had been true—there was something wrong between Erin and Dave, but it wasn't one of their usual brawls. Dave looked like he was physically in pain, and Erin kept ducking her head and turning away from Rossi's closed door, as if she could sense his gaze and wanted only to hide from it.

David wanted to look away, because the mere sight of the blonde was enough to break his heart all over again, but he found himself transfixed as he watched every nuance of her. He had to see for himself how she treated his son—was she gentler, was she harsher? Did she love him more than Jordan? Did she love him less? Did she seem him as some grievous reminder of past sins? Did she regret the child she'd borne him?

Her facial expression was as soft and worrisome as ever, perhaps more lined with fear and fatigue, but that was understandable. Chris said something to her before turning around and walking towards David's door, and he saw Erin's hand jerk, as if she wanted to pull him back but stopped herself. She nervously rubbed her ring finger (that had always been her "tell", ever since David had known her), her grey eyes following her son's movements. David could tell that she was holding her breath.

David could see Christopher approaching his door, and he took a deep breath to steel himself. There was a soft knock, and then Christopher's dark head peered cautiously around the edge of the door.

Hotch was already on his feet, quickly allaying Christopher's uncertainty by saying, "I was just leaving."

The young man opened the door wider, stepping aside to let Hotch exit. With one last glance over his shoulder at his anxious mother, Christopher stepped into David's office.

"Hey," he said simply, tucking his hands into his jeans' pockets.

"Hey, kid," David tried to keep his voice neutral.

"So, Jordan and I are leaving—the detail's here," he tilted his head back in the direction of the bullpen.

"You'll be safe," the older man assured him. "Your mother wouldn't have anything less than the best of our best keeping watch over you."

"I know," Chris admitted with a small smile. "I just—I wanted to ask you a favor."

The young man took a deep breath before he continued, "Will you…will you keep an eye on Mom, for me?"

Oh, son. You really don't know what you're asking of me right now.

"I know, she says she's fine…but I know she's not," Chris continued, his voice quivering. "And she gets distracted, when she's worried about one of us kids. I just don't want her to…I don't want her to be distracted while this guy's still on the loose."

God, Erin, how could you ever doubt that your children love you? David swallowed the lump in his throat as he looked into Christopher's eyes (so like his own), and quietly promised, "I'll keep an eye on her. I won't let anything happen to her."

The young man gave a curt nod, a relieved smile spreading across his features. "Good, good. I'll, uh, I guess I'll see ya later?"

David thought he might be telling a lie when he said, "See ya later."

With one last smile, Chris turned and headed back down into the bullpen again. Erin's eyes remained on David's silhouette, somehow meeting his eyes for a beat before turning her attention back to her children. Jordan gave a little wave, which David returned, then she quietly reached over and took her brother's hand. JJ was kissing Henry's blond head, saying something to Will before her husband scooped the young boy into his arms and followed the agents out the door. Hotch was standing next to Jack, who would stay in the BAU just a little bit longer, until Haley's sister Jessica arrived. Jack was obviously thrilled about getting to hang out with his dad, beaming as Morgan joked with him, looking back up at Hotch with a worshipful expression. Fathers and sons. David suddenly felt the urge to scream, but of course, he didn't. He simply sat there, every nerve ending in his body raw and hurting at the sight of his son, walking out of the BAU, surrounded by so many agents and so many guns, suddenly seeming much smaller and much younger.

God, what had they done?

Strauss did not appear at the team briefing that morning, citing another meeting with the director (which was true, completely true and professional and much less childish than her real reason for not wanting to be there). Hotchner had agreed to meet with her later in the day to get her back up to speed.

Again, the director asked a few searching personal questions as to how she was handling the situation, and again, she held her tongue, though her mind turned blue with profanities. But now that part of the ordeal was over and she was finally able to retreat back to the quiet solace of her own office.

Erin took a moment to scowl at Carrington as she entered the reception area—she'd already given her the worst bawling-out of her life, but Erin had decided that she would let the poor unfortunate soul suffer throughout the day, just to further enforce the lesson. Also, someone had to bear the brunt for the director's total lack of tact, since she certainly couldn't take her anger out on him.

She closed the door, barely stopping herself from slamming it like a hormonal teenager, clutching her head in her hands as she whispered a string of oaths and curses against the director and the Replicator and the world in general, her harsh words filled with a venom that seemed almost lethal.

Once her childish tantrum was over, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath (in through the nostrils, out through the mouth, just breathe), pulled her shoulders back, and turned to her desk. She nearly shrieked when she saw David Rossi, seated on the black leather couch in the corner of the room, as still and as quiet as the grim reaper himself.

"We need to talk."