Realignment
"The pattern of the prodigal is: rebellion, ruin, repentance, reconciliation, restoration." ~Edwin Louis Cole
*Author's Note: I don't know if the show runners ever mentioned this, but I'm pretty sure Blake's character is based upon real-life linguist Donald Wayne Foster, who assisted as a forensic linguist on several criminal cases, including the Unabomber case and the Amerithrax case (both of which our Blake fictitiously assisted on). Foster also "pinned the wrong man" in the Amerithrax case (sound familiar?). He is not an FBI agent, but a professor at Vassar College (how many more points do these two intersect?). You should just know this because…well, because I find it interesting.*
November 2002. New York City, New York.
Alex Blake. The name scratched across the seemingly innocuous signature line screamed the end of all her hopes and dreams. She'd held her breath as she'd signed the transfer papers, just to keep from crying as the hot tears pricked her eyes. Her fortieth birthday was fast approaching, and she'd just admitted defeat in what would very likely be her last battle.
For the past thirteen months, the Amerithrax case had been Alex Blake's waking obsession, her driving force as she spent countless hours searching through travel records and comparing dates and postmarks and forensic signatures. Her husband had threatened to leave, citing that she'd become a woman possessed, unable to simply leave her work at the office at the end of the day, but she'd accepted the fact that her marriage just might have to sacrifice itself for the good of the nation, because she certainly wasn't going to stop until she caught the person or persons responsible. Luckily, it hadn't come to that, because despite his frustration, James truly understood why she was so single-minded in her pursuit, and her marriage was saved. Unluckily, that seemed to be the only crisis that was averted.
She'd made a mistake, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that the media had turned that honest mistake into a firestorm of self-righteous indignation, fueled by incomplete facts and over-simplified statements, and the Bureau had suddenly decided that it needed to distance itself from the fury. Erin Strauss had chosen her as the fall-guy, had cut her rope and set her adrift on her own in the wide, scary world of unfounded public opinion.
She'd once admired Erin Strauss—a woman who'd fought her way to the top, a section chief who'd proven herself years ago as an analyst and an agent—and even though the woman was only a few years older than her, Alex had seen her as a kind of role model, a worthy goal to attain. They'd worked together a few times, and she'd even thought that she liked Erin as a person—she had that cool, serene wittiness about her, something that made her seem like a street-smart kid in a dazzling socialite body, and a laugh that could shatter silence like glass.
Of course, all of those thoughts and feelings were now gone. She'd known, the instant she began to detect the slightest bit of hesitation from Erin, that she inevitably was going to be fed to the wolves, but Alex had stood her ground, had stuck to her convictions and fought like hell to prove that she was right. Despite the fact that the Bureau was now going in a different direction, deep down Alex still believed that she'd made a good case. Erin's beloved data had lined up perfectly, and Alex couldn't ignore the facts.
And she'd also known, the instant she began to fight against Erin Strauss, that it was a losing battle. For years, she'd admired the older woman's warlike tendencies and ruthless tactics, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Erin wouldn't hesitate to unleash those talents on her. Still, she'd put up a good fight, because she felt honor-bound to at least try to defend herself—after all, if this was going to be her last stand, why not make it one for the history books?
She cleared her throat, giving a quick jerk of her head to reign in the tears. She was being shipped off to some field office in eastjesusnowhere, to quietly live out the rest of her career, once a shining and illustrious thing, now tarnished and shamed. They hadn't completely removed her from the Bureau. She supposed that was rather magnanimous of them.
Beside her stood John Curtis, a quiet man who'd followed her to the end, along with the rest of their team, who were all being separated and shipped out in some hush-hush diaspora. He gently cleared his throat as he leaned over, his voice shaking Alex from her thoughts as he softly asked, "Agent Blake, may I borrow your pen?"
May 2013. Quantico, Virginia.
"She's not feeling well," the thin, young receptionist with impossibly blue eyes informed Alex. "She might be coming down with the flu."
"The flu?" Alex couldn't hide the incredulity in her voice. The beginning of summer wasn't exactly flu season. She saw a flicker of something behind the receptionist's eyes, and suddenly, she understood—this woman cared for Erin Strauss, and she was making polite excuses to screen her visitors.
"Is it an urgent or otherwise important matter?" The younger brunette queried, her tone and body language making it very clear that she didn't want to disturb her boss.
Alex craned her neck slightly, just enough to be able to see through the floor-length glass window next to Erin's door. Through the open blinds, she could see the blonde slumped over a stack of papers, looking absolutely miserable and alone.
"Yes. It's very important," Alex answered. She moved to the door, "In fact, I believe she's expecting me."
She didn't even bother to listen to the protests as she opened the door and entered Erin's office.
Erin was so absorbed in her paperwork that it took a second for her to register the sound of the door opening and closing. She looked up, her expression easily betraying her surprise at the sight of Alex Blake standing in her office.
"Hello," she said quietly, her tone guarded and lightly laced with confusion.
Suddenly, Alex lost her sense of certainty. Unsure of what else to say, she simply replied, "Hello."
"Is there…is there something I can do for you, Agent Blake?" Erin slowly removed her reading glasses, setting them atop the papers.
"Yes, there is, actually," Alex tucked her hands into the back pockets of her slacks. She realized that Erin Strauss would see right through her friendly offer and would probably end up being pissed as hell for the obvious pity behind it, but it was too late to back out now. "You offered to meet for coffee a few months ago, and now I'm taking you up on it."
Those doll eyes widened just a fraction of an inch, but her tone remained cool, "You came up here to invite me to coffee?"
"Yes."
"Why now?" Erin was unbelievably, impossibly still, as if everything weighed on Alex's response.
"Because," the brunette took a deep breath before locking her brown eyes onto Erin's green ones. "Because you look like someone who could use a cup of coffee."
The section chief didn't miss the true meaning behind her agent's words, but she was obviously relieved that Alex was choosing to speak in code, because her shoulders relaxed again and her eyes lost their wary look.
"I'd like that." She admitted softly. "I'd like that very much."
"Great," Alex gave a curt nod. "Well, I'll, uh—I guess we could try sometime—"
"The director wants the team back in the field by tomorrow," Erin interrupted gently. "My guess is that you'll be traveling for the next few days. But we could set something up, whenever you get back?"
"Sounds good," the brunette agreed. With a slight gesture towards the papers, she added, "Well, I guess I'll let you get back to work."
She turned to go. Erin's voice stopped her.
"Alex?"
Blake turned back to her section chief. The smallest of smiles danced at the corner of Erin's mouth.
"Thank you."
The brunette simply nodded in return, offering a small smile of her own before opening the door and disappearing, just as quickly and quietly as she'd entered.
The receptionist was giving Alex a look that walked a thin line between concern and anger, but Alex merely smiled as she breezed past—her smile deepening when she felt the younger woman shifting behind her, moving to Erin's office to check on her boss.
Regardless of whatever dark and unknown thing had happened between Strauss and Rossi, Erin was still surrounded by good people, who would take care of her. And Dave was, too. Now she had a foot in both camps, so to speak, and Alex knew it might be a problem later on, but for now, she felt that it was worth the risk. Her mother had always taught her that compassion was the most important virtue, and she didn't think either of them would begrudge her showing some kindness to their former lover.
Former. The word sounded so sad, so wistful and final. Whenever the team had first begun to suspect that there was something brewing between Strauss and Rossi, Alex Blake had probably been the least surprised—aside from Hotch, who, like Alex, remembered the old days, back when the two used to work side-by-side. Their fights had been legendary, and people had blown up tales of their mutual animosity to epic proportions, but as someone who'd had a ringside seat to a few of the biggest battles, Alex had known the hatred between them wasn't real.
Over the years, over the telling and retelling, the true story had lost certain parts. And the parts of the story that everyone else forgot, the pieces that fell by the wayside during the spinning of the legend, were all the little quiet moments in-between. She remembered that during a case in Boston, David always seemed to have sour lemon candies in his coat pocket—Erin was suffering through the first few weeks of morning sickness during her first pregnancy, and for some reason, those candies soothed her—and sometimes, Alex would catch Erin's hand slipping into Dave's pocket. It always seemed so natural, so strangely intimate, that she felt like she shouldn't be watching, but she always did, because it fascinated her that two people who could scream at each other for hours over the minutest tactical decision could just as easily slip into sharing candy like an old married couple. It fascinated her that David could groan and complain and yell about Erin's damned logic and her equally damnable analyses, but at the end of every day, he put more candies in his coat pocket for her, because he knew that they made her feel better. It fascinated her that Erin could huff and puff and bellow about David's questionable ethics and lack of respect for protocol and her damned analyses, but she still reached into his pocket with the unwavering certainty that he was still looking out for her, even in the smallest of ways.
Of course, Alex also remembered the snickers and side-comments and little jokes about what must really go on between those two, behind closed doors (she acts like a bitch but she fucks like a tiger), but she'd dismissed them as simply strange little fantasies dreamt up by her male coworkers. Sure, there had always seemed to be tension crackling between the two, and sometimes there was a strong undercurrent that could definitely be described as sexual, but Alex had thought that they were both too proud to admit to such a thing, much less act on it (although there were a few times when she was certain that they went back to their respective hotel rooms and thought rather impure thoughts about their colleague).
Looking back, Alex decided that there had always been a strange fluidity in Dave and Erin's relationship, a unique way that they pushed and pulled and always came back together, and she felt an odd sadness at the thought that it wasn't that way anymore. Her reaction surprised her, because really, why should she care about what happened between them?
The answer came easily, though it still shocked her—she cared, because she'd seen some kind of hope in it. If Erin and Dave could literally reduce one another to shrieking pillars of fury, and yet still be able to quietly move forward and look past the hurts and insults and differences, then it was a symbol of hope for other relationships. After all, Alex didn't fight with her husband like that (well, when they were first married, there might have been a few blowouts that rivaled an old Strauss/Rossi grudge match, but that was years ago), so how much easier it should be for her to forgive him, and vice versa, if Erin could forgive Dave's mistakes, and he forgave hers. They had been a living testament to the idea that nothing was unforgivable, but now, they were becoming the opposite. The realization filled Blake with a weary sadness.
And in yet another shocking turn of events, she found herself hoping that they somehow found a way to move past whatever this thing was between them. She found herself actually hoping that Erin Strauss would fall back in love with an equally happy David Rossi.
She probably needed to have her head checked.
"So you're going with Detroit." Erin Strauss intoned softly, making it a statement rather than a question.
"Yes, ma'am," Penelope Garcia replied. After a few blissful weeks of finally feeling comfortable around the older woman, she suddenly felt awkward and uncertain again, because Erin was so obviously hurting and Penelope didn't know what to say, or even if she should say anything at all. She always was a deeply empathic person—she easily felt others' pain, and right now, she felt Erin's sorrow and weariness and worry, and it weighed on her shoulders like a ton of bricks.
"It's a good choice," her section chief decreed, taking another moment to survey the file down the full length of her classical nose before taking off her reading glasses and turning her attention back to Garcia. It was already after eight; most of the team members were gone for the day, and though it meant wasting twelve precious hours by waiting until the morning, Erin couldn't bring herself to ask JJ and Aaron to leave their sons in the dead of the night (not like this, not when everything was changed and so uncertain). Still, she'd make up for the lost time as much as possible, "Coordinate with Detroit PD so that our team can get to work the instant the plane lands. Brief them first thing tomorrow morning—as early as possible. But for now, I'd like to let the team to get one more night's rest before we fling them back into the field."
There was something unsettling about that metaphor, and Penelope's concern was evident. Erin's expression softened as she tried to reassure the younger woman, "They'll be safe. They're all highly-trained and very smart; they know how to protect themselves in the field."
However, Erin's smile didn't reach her eyes, which still held such blatant fear that Penelope knew she was lying to them both.
Erin took a moment to survey her surroundings—normally, she would simply have this meeting via teleconference, happily seated at her desk, looking over copies of the files as Garcia stated her reasoning for whichever one she chose from the safety of her own lair. Since the party-planning, there had been a few face-to-face appearances, whenever Penelope simply stopped by Erin's office on the way to her briefings. But today, she'd needed to get away, and the novelty of Penelope Garcia's strange little world was a welcome and much-needed distraction.
She liked the fact that anyone could walk into the room and instantly get a sense of Penelope's personality. It was a whimsical oasis amidst the darkness of their work. There was a time when Erin Strauss would have thought that it was unprofessional, but now she found it comforting. Penelope Garcia never tried to be anything or anyone other than herself. It was a trait to be admired.
"I know that's true, ma'am," Penelope was speaking again, breaking into Erin's thoughts. Her cadence was quick and choppy, a sure sign that she was fighting back a wave of tears. "I mean, I know they're smart, and I know they know how to take care of themselves, but what my mind knows and what my heart feels are two very different things, I can't help but—"
The older woman stopped her by reaching over and gently placing her hand over Penelope's, stilling the tech analyst's trembling limbs.
"There's nothing wrong with that," Erin spoke softly. In typical Strauss fashion, she added, "So long as you don't allow it to keep you from doing your job and doing your best to help them."
Penelope nodded quickly, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Erin gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before rising to her feet, lightly tossing the case file onto the desk and resuming an air of all business, "I will inform the director of your decision to go with Detroit. I doubt he'll be pleased that I'm not sending the team out until tomorrow, but quite frankly, his happiness not my priority right now."
The younger blonde fought back a grin. She used to think Strauss was scary. Now she was just adorable and feisty. And sad, though she was hiding it well now. Penelope wanted to ask how she was doing, but she knew that it would cross so many lines, and though she found the older woman adorable right now, she was certain that Erin would retreat back into her Ice Queen mode—she didn't have to be a profiler to understand a coping mechanism when she saw it. Once she'd gotten to know Erin, Penelope had realized that they were very similar. She used her quirky individualism as a shield, the same way that Erin used her frozen persona—it was a means to protect all the soft, gushy feelings underneath, the feelings that could be used to wound and manipulate. Their actions came from the same place of fear, though the results put them on opposite ends of the spectrum.
With a soft farewell and a small smile, Erin Strauss left Garcia's office and began the trek back to her own. It was odd, how much more at-peace she felt, simply being surrounded by the younger woman's perky and comforting presence. She was amused to think that just a few short months ago, she would have dreaded any interaction with the woman whom she was certain wasn't very stable, with those strange outfits and that bizarre hair and those overly emotive ways that surely couldn't be true feelings. Of course, the better she got to know Penelope, the more she was reminded of her eldest daughter. And she'd also realized that Penelope Garcia was one of the most stable people she'd ever met—given her past (her parents, her near-death experiences, the losses she'd suffered as colleagues left or were killed in action) and her current job position (actively choosing when and how to send the little family she'd created in the BAU back into the underbelly of humanity, into danger and possible death), she was remarkably sane and well-adjusted.
Erin's mind invariably returned to David (it was like a loop, that way—everything and everyone reminded her of him). He still hadn't spoken to her since the day that they realized the Replicator had to know about their mutual past, but she knew that he was still distant and distracted and not at all ready to be back in the field.
He'd actually surprised her—she'd expected him to have already come to her, demanding that they tell Christopher the truth, at which point she would have to sit down with Paul and quietly tear down the foundations of his world (again). But he still hadn't approached her, still hadn't made a decision, and she wasn't sure what that meant.
Maybe getting back in the field would be therapeutic for him, maybe it would clear his head, force him to think about something else for a while, maybe give him some new perspective. Over the past few days, she'd certainly gained perspective—just as with her relationship with David, Erin suddenly realized that nothing was guaranteed when it came to her children. Once Chris learned the truth, he may not want to be around her anymore; Jordan and Anna may react the same way as well. Until then, she was soaking up as much time with them as possible. It had been so long since Chris and Jordan had lived under her roof, and she enjoyed getting to see them on a daily basis again, actually liked being able to cook larger meals and having someone with whom to discuss events in the newspaper (something she didn't do with Anna, who much preferred to talk about her friends or the latest episode of her favorite show). And though Anna and Paul were still in Somerset, she spoke to them every night (and every night Paul asked her if they were any closer, and she answered that they weren't, sadly).
As if on-cue, her cell buzzed in the pocket of her dress, and she fished it out, barely glancing at the caller ID (she knew it would be Paul) before answering, "Hey."
"Erin." There was something strange in Paul's voice.
"What is it? Is everything OK?" She stopped walking, physically bracing herself.
"Everything's fine," he assured her, and she let out a deep breath of relief. "It's just….Anna wants to come home. And so do I."
"Oh."
"We aren't any safer here than we would be in D.C."
"I suppose you have a point," she admitted softly. "We can't just stay locked away from the world forever."
"We're agreed then?"
"Agreed," she gave a curt nod, feeling some level of gratitude that Paul still let her have some say in the decision.
"And Erin?" His voice sounded timid, uncertain. "I would like to…I think it would be best—I, I'm not sure how to say this. I would like to spend as much time as I can with the kids. I guess this has really made me re-evaluate my priorities."
"I understand. There shouldn't be any problem—Chris' detail just goes wherever he goes, so if he's at your place—"
"No, Erin, that isn't what I meant," Paul interrupted softly. "I would like to spend time with the kids…and with you."
"Oh." She wasn't sure what else to say. "I, uh, I'm not sure what—"
"It would just be me, coming over for dinner every night. I'd go home afterwards." He was speaking quickly now, trying to put her at-ease. "I'm not trying to imply anything more than that. I just want us all to be together while we can—I think it would be good, for the kids, for all of us."
"No—I mean, yes, you're absolutely right," she stumbled over her words, trying to sort out the weird reaction that his proposal had on her.
"I just wanted to talk to you about it, to make sure you were OK with me coming to the house."
"Of course I am, Paul," she regained her mental footing. "The five of us are still a family regardless of….despite whatever we two are or aren't."
"Good." She could hear the smile of relief in his voice. "We'll pack our bags and leave in the morning."
"I'm still at Quantico," she informed him, rounding the corner to her office. "I've got a few more things to do, then I'm heading back to the house. I'll call you when I get home."
She hung up as she breezed into the reception area, where Carrington was gathering her things and getting ready to leave as well.
"Everything OK?" Carrington asked, her big blue eyes never missing a single nuance of Erin's moods.
"I'm not sure," she answered truthfully. She stopped, taking a beat to think. "I'm not sure, but I think it is."
"Well, believing's half the battle, isn't it?" The younger woman offered a warm smile.
Maybe she was right.
August 2011. Washington, D.C.
Alex Blake. Those nine simple letters formed a Molotov cocktail inside John Curtis' brain. Erin Strauss had submitted a short list of replacements for the recently deceased SSA Emily Prentiss, whose position was currently being filled by a cadet with no real training or experience. At the top of the list was a very familiar name. But it wasn't just the name that surprised John—it was all the things that followed it. Intelligence and intuition well-suited to the work of the BAU. The most capable and logical choice.
Coming from Erin Strauss, those words were like a parade in honor of Agent Blake. He couldn't believe that after all those years, Strauss was turning herself into a champion for the same woman she'd let take the fall for the Amerithrax case.
The most capable and logical choice. He fought back a sardonic laugh at the words. Blake was a good agent, there was no doubt about that, but she wasn't the best—and she certainly didn't compare to his own impressive resume and superior intellect. How could Erin say such things, knowing they were lies? How could she have forgotten about him? Once, Erin Strauss had quipped that he wasn't just the smartest man in the room, but the smartest man in the Bureau—that had been years ago, even before his exile to Kansas, but how could she forget? How was he not the first option that popped into her mind?
He wasn't even supposed to be reading this—it was a private communique between Erin, the director, and a few others in the Justice Department—but John always had a pressing need to know everything, and he found it useful to read classified documents from time to time. It was his insurance plan against any future disgrace or degradation. Of course, that made him sound like some kind of double-agent in a Cold War spy film, but experience had taught John Curtis that the Bureau didn't always play by the rules. This list of names only furthered the realization that he obviously did not owe the FBI any loyalty, since they refused to acknowledge him, treating him like some bastard stepchild to be swept under a rug and never mentioned.
Of course, this list was just a preliminary formality—the vetting process could take weeks, and it could be months before a transfer was even made. Still, this was unsettling on so many levels. He actually could have handled the slight, if Blake hadn't been on the list. He could have told himself that he wasn't considered because of the Amerithrax debacle (because that's what Erin made it look like, a fumble, a mistake, a failure). But Alex Blake was on the list, which meant that past mistakes weren't even a consideration. If Blake was on the list, then he should be, too—and he should be the one at the top, with Erin's hard-earned praises trailing behind his name like a battle standard, decreeing to the Bureau his obvious superiority over all other candidates.
He deleted the document from his hard drive. If only it were so easy to delete from his mind. He was going to have to keep a close watch on the events unfolding at Quantico. If Alex Blake were given the coveted position, then he would be honor-bound to prove to Erin Strauss—and to the world—that she had made a grave mistake in not choosing him.
Ungrateful, spoiled children, all of them. Treating their best and brightest like shiny toys, to be tossed aside whenever something new came along. Erin Strauss was the worst of them—she devoured people like a locomotive devoured coal, quickly and hotly and without thinking, because it was simply the creature she was. She thought she was some untouchable god, like all the other top brass at the Bureau—they all thought that they could just demolish and discard people, thought that their actions didn't have consequences, thought that their position and their power made them safe from retribution.
They were wrong.