Line in the Sand
"When I stand at last before the face of God, God will say to me, 'Show Me your wounds.' And if I say I have no wounds, God will ask, 'Was there nothing worth fighting for?'" ~Jennifer M. Granholm**
***Author's Note/CORRECTION: This chapter was originally posted 8/13/13. However, the final section (Oct 89, D.C.) had a huge continuity error that had to be corrected, and so this section of the chapter was revised and reposted 8/22/13.
June 2013. Quantico, Virginia.
"Chief Strauss, do you know why you're here?" The director was sitting impossibly still, hands clasped before him in a picture of power and assurance. Erin fought back the urge to roll her eyes like her teenaged daughter.
"Because you called me," she answered flatly, and the almost-insolent tone in her voice didn't go unnoticed. He didn't respond, so after a beat, she gave a heavy sigh, "I'm assuming that it has to do with the Replicator case, sir."
"You would assume correctly."
So do I get a fucking prize? She smothered that comment in her head—there were only so many lines that she could cross today, and she was definitely nearing her limit.
"Chief Strauss, we have discussed this many times. I thought that you understood the situation."
"I thought I did, too, sir. But your tone implies that I do not."
The director leaned forward, the lines above his brows becoming more pronounced, "I thought I made it very clear on Saturday that all protective details would be dismissed first thing Monday morning. And yet here it is Tuesday, and I find that while the surveillance detail has been dismissed, the nightly security details are still in place. Would you like to explain?"
Her eyes flickered heavenward, as if asking for patience to deal with this man and his obvious lack of intelligence. "Sir, there is still a direct threat against my agents. After all that they have given for their country and this agency, I don't think it's too much to ask that we at least be able to give them peace of mind in their own homes."
"I told you that I would give you until Monday. The case will be marked inactive again, and the security detail will be dismissed immediately."
"Sir, we've only had—"
"You will let go of whatever crusade you think you're fighting, Chief Strauss. That is an order." He watched her mouth press into a thin, firm line, and for a second, he actually thought that he wanted to know what she wasn't saying, just out of idle curiosity, because Erin Strauss had never been this belligerent before (sure, she'd been pushing the limit over the past few weeks with this Replicator case, but she'd always been cold and practical and unemotional, all the things that she certainly wasn't being today). Of course, he understood that this was different—her son was threatened, and he could understand the instincts of a worried parent. His face filled with concern as he gently continued, "Chief Strauss, it's been over two weeks since the team has received anything from the Replicator. I approved the protection details, I approved the increased security, I even let you make this case active again. But we haven't had any contact from this UNSUB in weeks, and the whole eight-week theory has proven incorrect. We just don't have any more to go on for now, and I think I've humored you enough on this subject—"
He knew that he'd chosen the wrong words as soon as they left his lips.
"Humored me?" On this note, her eyes finally flicked up to meet his, and he knew that she'd finally been pushed over the edge. She kept her tone cool, but those green orbs were burning as she replied, "Excuse me, sir, but I thought you were protecting our agents because you were actually concerned for their safety, not because you were humoring me—"
"You know what I mean, Strauss—"
"I hope that I don't, sir, because right now—"
"Chief Strauss." The harsh edge in his voice stopped her immediately. He'd let her gain too much of an upper hand with her righteous indignation, and now he needed to rein her back in. Taking a deep breath, the director continued, graciously ignoring his section chief's breech in professionalism, "I understand that you have an emotional stake in this case, on behalf of your son, and I understand your concern. But I cannot justify this kind of expense, not when there hasn't been a direct threat."
Erin still didn't tell him about receiving the chess pieces. For some reason, she felt that she couldn't trust this man, and she was currently not in the business of pushing aside gut feelings for professionalism—not when Christopher hung in the balance, not when the stakes were too high and too precious.
"Has the team received any kind of communication from the Replicator since the photographs?" The director leaned forward again. Each word was weighted, each question rhetorical, each stone the foundation upon which he built his argument. "And was there a direct taunt with these photographs, or was it simply the photos themselves? How much hard evidence do we actually have on this case, Chief Strauss?"
She fell silent at his questions, and that was his answer. With a heavy sigh, he looked out the window, to the training fields and the lands surrounding this little kingdom that he'd sworn to protect, so that the people within this world could protect the rest of the country. He understood her caution, her concern, her loyalty to these people, who were her brothers and sisters in-arms, but he also had to look at this from a practical standpoint.
Erin Strauss was a practical person. She was logical and pragmatic—it was that set of qualities which had landed her in her current position. He had to appeal to that side of her, "Chief Strauss, we have already spent so much money and resources on protective details for all seven team members for weeks now, not to mention the agents assigned to the boys. You know how costly that is. I can't keep justifying such expense when for all we know, this guy is dead or incarcerated."
We're not that lucky, Erin thought, and she found herself also hoping that it wasn't so—she wanted a chance to kill the Replicator herself.
"If we receive any further communication from the Replicator, security will be put back in place," the director opened his hands in a magnanimous gesture. Then he clasped them together as he became somber again, "And the team needs to be back in the field again full-time. We can't allow this UNSUB to curtail our activities—we have a responsibility to the entire nation to uphold."
"Sir, they currently are in the field. But I would like to point out that our lull in field time was due to the fact that we hadn't been asked to join any investigations. The BAU has not stopped conducting their usual duties—we are still actively consulting on cases across the country, still maintaining speaking engagements and attending training seminars—"
"They need to be in the field, Chief Strauss."
"And when they actually receive a request from a local law enforcement office, they will go into the field, sir, without question."
"It looks bad, having them at Quantico."
"I can't help how it looks, sir, and frankly, that isn't my concern."
"It should be." Erin didn't miss the warning tone in her superior's voice.
"Is that all, sir?" She looked up at him again, this time not even trying to disguise her obvious contempt for this exercise in power and position.
He sat back, taking a full beat to give her a hard stare, making her wait, making her realize exactly how the power was distributed in this room—as angry and self-righteous as she might be, she couldn't leave until he allowed her to.
"That is all, Chief."
With a curt nod, she spun around on her heel and left. Sighing heavily, the director sank back in his chair, silently wondering how the section chief who'd once been one of his best and most faithful lieutenants was now becoming one of his most unstable liabilities.
Tucson, Arizona.
David Rossi had never been so glad to see the Bureau plane awaiting them on the tarmac, airstair open and ready to take them in. It was early morning, when the sky was still sickly blue and the air had a strange heaviness that can only be described as the moment before dawn.
Doing some quick mental math on the time difference, David decided that Christopher would probably be awake by now, so he scrolled through his phone's contacts and found his son's number.
"Hey, David," Chris answered, his voice filled with a slightly nervous air.
"Morning, Chris." David looked around, finding himself suddenly oddly emotional at how wonderfully mundane this moment was. "We're leaving Tucson now."
"So…you will be here in time for Mom's ceremony, then?"
"Absolutely."
"Good," his son gave a sigh of relief. Then he got back to business, "Jordan's already talked to Uncle Peter; he'll be here as well."
David smiled at Christopher's thoughtfulness—it was his birthday, and yet, he was busy planning a surprise to celebrate his mother's first full year of sobriety. Erin had already told her children that, as much as she loved them, she didn't want them at the AA meeting (there was too much she had to share, too much that they didn't need to know, and instinctively, they seemed to understand this, because they simply accepted it), so she and David would simply meet them at Chris' favorite restaurant for his birthday dinner afterwards. What she didn't know was that Peter was coming into town, and that they would also take some time to recognize Erin's special occasion as well.
"She's gonna be so mad." Despite his words, there was definitely a grin in Christopher's voice. "Mom always hates surprises."
"I don't think she could ever be mad at you kids. Not about something like this."
"You'd be surprised."
"Ah, she's crazy about you three."
"I know," her son answered simply, with the easy faith of a child who truly does know that he is loved. After a beat, he spoke again, "Thank you, David."
"For what? You're the one who organized this whole thing."
"For being the kind of guy who loves my mom enough to be here for her, no matter what." There was a slight tremble of emotion in Chris' voice, so unexpected that it landed like a sucker-punch to David's gut. Before the older man could even react, Chris continued, "You've...you've been very good for Mom, and very good to her. Dannie and Anna and I really...we're glad. I'm sure it can't be easy, dating a woman with kids, especially with everything that's happened over the last two weeks, but...but you stuck around, and we're glad you did. So thank you."
"It means a lot to hear you say that," David admitted, though the young man could never truly know just how much it meant. His throat was tightening with unshed tears, with all the things that could never be said or known, and yet, he was certain that he was glowing with happiness.
"Well, I guess I'll see ya tonight," Chris suddenly seemed almost-embarrassed by his earlier confession.
"See ya later," David promised, hanging up with another smile as his heart swelled again with gratitude and love—yes, he still regretted that it took so long for Erin to tell him the truth, but he couldn't be angry with her, not when he still had the chance for so many more moments like this with the kind and thoughtful young man that he could never openly claim. But that part had been his own decision. It wasn't about being able to claim Christopher. It was about simply being proud of the man that his son was becoming.
"Ready to roll?" Alex was approaching him, a slightly sleepy smile on her face as she gave his shoulder an affectionate bump with her own.
"You bet."
"Didja tell Erin that we're on our way?"
"No. I think I'm gonna surprise her."
"You know Hotch has to call and tell her that we're leaving."
"Damn it, I forgot."
Another amused smile slipped across Alex's mouth as she wryly panned, "Must suck, having a girlfriend whose actual job is keeping tabs on you."
He had to laugh at the imagery, at the odd truth in those words. "I don't know, I think it beats having the jealous wife calling to ask where I'm at all the time."
"Oh, we must be talking about Vanessa," Alex grinned, and David seemed slightly shocked that she would remember such a detail. Noting his expression, she arched her eyebrow, "What? You don't forget a woman like that. I think I met her during the McVale shooting case, back in what, '96, '97? I remember thinking that I couldn't turn my back on her because she might pounce."
"Nessa always did see smoke where there wasn't any fire," David conceded. "If it's any consolation, you weren't the only female colleague that she hated."
"I'm sure I wasn't. Insecurity like that creates a long list of supposed enemies."
"She's gotten better, I think." David gave a wry grin, "Well, she got better after she divorced me. She married a man who's attached at the hip, so she's happier."
"Good for her," Alex offered, though there wasn't much enthusiasm behind it. Really, she didn't particularly dislike Vanessa (she didn't know her that well), but she didn't care too much about her happiness, either.
The conversation ebbed once they boarded the plane, and David took a moment to reflect on his last ex-wife. They'd been hell for each other, but he'd tried to keep them together, just because he didn't want to be a failure at marriage yet again. Of course, when you picked the wrong partner for all the wrong reasons, it was certainly doomed before it even truly began.
The end of his first marriage was something beyond his control, beyond Carolyn's control—it was the result of a tragedy, one more loss that seemed part of the inevitable package of losing their son. But the other two unions had been mistakes, and he could admit that now. They were brash decisions, the result of feeling too lonely or needing to find a surrogate for a woman he couldn't have—a woman whom he finally did have, in every way.
In the past two weeks, he'd survived more with Erin than he'd ever had with Vanessa, and their relationship had remained steadier and happier than he and Nessa had been even in the best of times.
Marriage was more than vows and compromises and white dresses and rings. It was about finding the perfect traveling companion on the road of life and publicly deciding that you were always going to travel together.
Had he finally found the one who was meant to walk beside him, for the rest of his life?
As the plane began picking up speed, lifting off the runway and into the brightening sky, back towards the woman whose quiet eyes saw him as he was, truly and deeply, and whose heart still loved him for his imperfections, David was certain that he knew the answer.
October 1989. Washington, D.C.
"Absolutely not."
"C'mon, Abby—"
"That's SSA Van Hals to you, Agent Rossi," the corners of Abigail's eyes were creased in a Mona Lisa smile. "We like to keep it professional here."
David rolled his eyes, "Abby, I've known you since you were a stupid cadet who tried to climb the training run wall in the pouring rain and twisted your ankle so badly that I had to carry your ass back to the barracks."
"And I've always appreciated how you never used that good deed as leverage, to play upon my emotions," she returned wryly.
"Abby—"
"David, I am a SAC in the Washington Field Office. I realize that we have history, but for the love of all that is good and holy, please afford me some respect." She was actually frustrated right now, almost to the point of desperation. "Do you know how hard it is, stepping into Rutherford freaking Golden's shoes? It's been eight months, and I'm still having to prove myself every second of every day, and you and I both know that when Marshall retires next year, I'll be under the microscope for Assistant Director in Charge. ADIC of the District office, David—I'm sure as hell not going to do anything to jeopardize that. Which brings us back to your original request. No, no, no. You know good and well that Golden would have never approved such a thing, and you only came to me because you thought that you could bully me into saying yes."
"Our guy is back, Agent Van Hals," David honored her request, because truly, she had earned his respect a long time ago (actually she'd earned it by being foolhardy enough to try climbing the training wall in what was a complete nor'easter), and he'd never meant to challenge her authority, at least not in a way that actually sparked her inner doubts and inferiorities. "I know it's him, and I need to reassemble the original team—"
"I can't," she sighed heavily, and he realized that she'd never wanted to deny his request. "There isn't enough evidence. I know, you have a hunch, and yes, I know, your hunches are usually dead-on, but if I get called onto the carpet about this, I might as well tell them that I made the decision based on a sign in my tea leaves."
"I understand," he replied quietly. As frustrated as he was at the situation, he truly did understand Abigail's reasoning. He rose to his feet, smiling and easily changing the conversation, "Well, since I can't convince you to back my schemes as an agent, can I at least treat you to lunch as a friend?"
Abigail grinned, silently relieved that he wasn't going to hold a grudge over her refusal, "You certainly may. Lemme finish up a few things in here first."
David nodded, motioning to the hallway, "I'll just be out here waiting."
He closed the door to Abigail Van Hals' office, taking a moment to look around the open bullpen again.
Erin Strauss was at her desk, brow furrowed in an almost child-like expression as she concentrated on a stack of papers. It was funny—despite her training, despite her marksmanship and drive, she always seemed to take on the role of analyst, no matter which department she was in.
She suddenly looked up, and after a brief flash of confusion, she offered a small smile. He moved towards her, and she stood up, moving forward as well.
That's when he noticed the curve of her belly—the gentle swell that appeared in the second trimester, the first true outward sign of pregnancy to the rest of the world.
"Look at you," he motioned to the baby bump. The last time he'd seen her, she was only a few weeks along, and had actually lost weight due to the morning sickness, so she hadn't looked pregnant in the least.
She blushed slightly, her hand automatically smoothing over the protrusion (so easily, so effortlessly, and David thought she actually made a perfect picture of motherhood), "Yep, five months and counting."
Now that she was closer, he noticed the deep grooves under her eyes and the odd almost-unhealthy hue of her skin. "I thought you were past the morning sickness phase."
"Nope," she gave a weary sigh. "My doctor says that some women stay ill the entire pregnancy. That seems to be the case with me."
"It must be hell. You don't look so hot."
"You always knew just how to make a girl feel special, Rossi." She returned dryly, completely unfazed (by now, she was used to his ways, and this certainly wasn't the harshest thing that he'd ever said to her).
"No, I just meant—"
"I know," she waved it away. Then with a grin, she lifted up the edge of her shirt, "Check this out."
Sweet Jesus, Erin Strauss in maternity jeans. Wonders never ceased.
"You know, just in case I get involved in a high-speed foot chase," she quipped, and he had to laugh at the mental image of a pregnant Erin Strauss, wielding a gun and running through the streets of D.C. With a shrug, she added, "It beats having to walk around the office in a muumuu, I suppose."
"I don't think I've ever seen you in a dress," David admitted.
"I'm not really a dress-wearing kind of gal," she made a face. "Doesn't really fit the job description."
"Neither does being pregnant," he pointed out.
There was a strange look that passed across her pale features, and she offered another smile (but this one didn't reach her eyes), "Well, you know what they say—there's never a perfect time to have a baby. But Paul's been wanting to start a family for so long now, we decided that we shouldn't put it off any longer."
David noticed that she talked about wanting children, she said Paul, not we, but he wisely stepped around that emotional landmine.
"What are you doing in D.C.?" She changed the subject easily, jerking her chin in the direction of Van Hals' now-closed door.
"Our guy's back," he kept his voice low.
"Roche?" Her green eyes pricked with fear and surprise. "After that bloodbath in Philadelphia, I didn't think that he'd come back to the States for at least a few years."
David tried not to think of the other parts of that strange day, the things that had happened in his hotel room, after the blood had been washed away and only the odd loneliness had remained. Erin must have had the same flash of memory, too, because now she was fiddling with the slender gold band on her left hand.
"Never underestimate the power of a raging egomaniac," David informed her. "Roche's back because surviving that shoot-out makes him feel untouchable. He's practically begging us to come after him again. There's movement in New York again, and I know it's him, but the higher-ups are wanting more hard facts before they reassemble the task force."
Unlike Abby, Erin didn't question David's certainty—she'd worked with him long enough to truly trust him. Instead her thin lips merely quirked into a wry grin, "Well, you know what they say about raging egomaniacs, Agent Rossi—it takes one to know one."
He laughed, suddenly realizing that he'd actually missed Erin Strauss' ball-busting ways, despite the slightly strained way that they'd left things several months ago. He found himself even hoping that he was right about Roche, just so he'd get to work with her again. She was a good sparring partner and a damn good research agent to boot (though he'd die a thousand deaths before ever admitting that aloud).
"You think you'll be able to jump on the road again, if we can finally gather enough intel to prove that he's really back?" He gave a critical glance at her abdomen, trying to keep his eyes from straying further upwards (her stomach wasn't the only thing growing these days).
Her hand went back to her baby bump again, as if shielding it from his disparagement. "I can still keep up with you just fine, old man."
"Hey, watch it. Don't you know raging egomaniacs don't like being called old men?"
Now it was her turn to laugh, and though she wanted to ask how he'd been, she held back (because it wasn't her place, she didn't have the right to know how he was, because he was just a colleague and she was just a fellow agent, something less than friend).
"Strauss," another male voice called across the room, and Erin's blonde head swiveled towards it.
"Yeah, Bukowski, I'm ready when you are."
"Then let's go," Bukowski was opening his desk drawer, slipping his gun back into its holster and grabbing his sports coat from the back of his chair.
With an apologetic grimace, Erin turned back to Rossi, "Field interviews. Got some follow-ups to conduct."
She leaned over her own desk drawer to grab her gun and badge, and David couldn't help but notice that despite her newly reshaped body, she still had a great ass.
"They still let you out in the field?" He was surprised.
"I'm with child, not an invalid." There was an edge of frustration in her tone as she clipped her shield onto her shirt pocket. With a sigh, she confessed, "They only let me out when it's low-risk. Luckily for me, public corruption isn't exactly booming with shoot-outs and high-speed chases."
Suddenly, the corner of her mouth twisted into a wry grin, "Though, I am becoming a bit of a liability these days. I can't wear my usual shoulder holster because it's becoming harder to reach across the vast expanse of my ever-growing form."
"You should be careful," he said quietly, and his soft concern was startling to her, because she suddenly looked up, her green eyes latching onto his brown ones. A beat passed as they simply took a moment to absorb each other's gaze.
"Agent Rossi," Abigail Van Hals opened her office door, her face graced with a happy smile. "Ready to go?"
"Absolutely," he returned her smile before turning back to the younger blonde woman. "Take care, Strauss."
"You, too, Rossi." Her eyes were shielded, almost conveying something unspoken as she lowly added, "I imagine I'll see you again soon."
I believe you, I have faith in you. Roche's back and this time, we'll get him.
Erin Strauss. The World's Unlikeliest Ally.
He nodded, silently thanking her for the vote of confidence. And hours later, as he made his way back to Quantico, he found his mind straying back to her, quietly running his thoughts over their exchange like the fraying edge of a piece of cloth.
He didn't know why it bothered him, seeing her pregnant, but it did. Sure, he'd known about her pregnancy for months now, but that was before she actually looked pregnant. It was stupid, but seeing really was believing.
Of course, he also couldn't stop replaying her words: Paul's been wanting to start a family for so long now.
He feared the meaning behind them, because he'd known for quite some time how Erin felt about having children (he'd known because he'd actually listened when she spoke, even when she didn't realize that he was listening). He had the saddening intuition that she'd given in to Paul's demands for children as a way of expiating her own sins against her husband, out of guilt and shame—guilt and shame for which David Rossi was partially responsible. Erin Strauss had always been an ambitious soul, and David would never forgive himself if her aspirations were curtailed because of something that she'd done to lessen the gravity of his own actions.
Perhaps he was reading too much into it. He hoped that he was. He hoped that this child had been her choice, and that she was truly happy with the results, because for some completely inexplicable reason, he'd never been able to stand seeing Erin Strauss sad.
She would make a good mother; he didn't doubt it for a single second, though it looked like motherhood was severely kicking her (still finely shaped) ass. She definitely needed someone who was looking out for her—if they did get to work together again soon, David would make it his responsibility to be that person, to make sure that she took it easy and didn't over-exert herself. She probably would not be grateful for his concern, but that didn't matter, as long as she was well. Besides, David was used to having Strauss mad at him. In fact, one might say he even preferred it.
**Author's Note: I have attributed this particular quote to Jennifer M. Granholm, former Michigan Governor, but this quote is actually a rephrasing of a quote given by Nancy Pelosi, who was requoting "an African bishop", who is Allan Boesak. Though Rev. Boesak's version is very similar, I preferred Granholm's wording. Just trying to give credit where credit's due.**