Forests & Trees

"Next to a battle lost, the greatest misery is a battle gained." ~Duke of Wellington

*Author's Note: The events discussed in this first section are from 6.11 25 to Life.*

December 2010. Quantico, Virginia.

She was going to kill David Rossi. That was the only solution, plain and simple. She wouldn't even try to cover her tracks or make it look like an accident. She'd wring his neck with her bare hands, and everyone who ever knew that smug bastard would simply nod and say justifiable homicide.

Aaron Hotchner had taken a few days' leave, since it was the one-year anniversary of his wife's brutal murder, which meant that supervisory duties fell to David Rossi. He was the one who'd chosen Derek Morgan to oversee the Donald Sanderson parole appeal. In turn, Agent Morgan had pushed for Sanderson's release, which had now resulted in two murders.

But, oh, that was only the beginning. Sanderson had admitted to murdering Tom Wittman, and yet the whole BAU was convinced that he was innocent (Erin Strauss would never understand these people, as long as she lived). To make matters worse, while Sanderson was in custody, someone else had killed the second victim, Mary Rutka, who was supposedly connected to the original double-homicide of Sanderson's wife and daughter twenty-five years ago.

The BAU believed that someone else just so happened to be James Stanworth, an up-and-coming politician who had some very good friends in some very dangerously high places.

Now, Erin Strauss was not an unintelligent human being. She could understand how the circumstantial evidence pointed to James Stanworth, and she could understand how Morgan and Rossi were convinced that he was the man behind the murders. The problem was that it was all circumstantial. Legally, they didn't have a leg to stand on (though, when she'd pointed that out, Rossi had basically called her a coward, which only angered her further, because it was typical of him not to see the legal ramifications behind such brash accusations and actions).

She also was not an unintuitive person—as much as it irked her to play the devil's advocate and admit that the BAU was probably right, she knew that in the end, their analysis would fit this man perfectly, and she knew that they wouldn't have come to her unless they'd truly considered every other possibility. And truly, she had been convinced by their circumstantial case, but she couldn't justify arresting a man based on circumstantial. There needed to be something more.

You cannot accuse a man without a shred of physical evidence. Those were her exact words to Morgan and Rossi. What was so hard to understand about this basic tenet of the American justice system?

She had explained this, and she had thought that they understood, thought that they would simply come back with more evidence, like the law-abiding professionals they were supposed to be.

Silly, silly, Erin. Expecting someone like David Rossi to play by the rules.

For most people, being told that there wasn't enough evidence would have been a signal to keep looking, not to engage. You didn't go after a powerful man without some equally powerful proof. You didn't defy orders on a hunch. You didn't cross the line, making a hunt for justice into some kind of personal vendetta.

And you certainly didn't burst into dinner parties like a shoot'em-up cowboys and goad a psychopath into an absolute rage on the slim chance that he might actually confess. It was reckless, it was dangerous, it was the kind of thing that put the entire Bureau at risk for lawsuits and public criticism, the kind of thing that ended with department heads rolling and agents being reassigned to Eastjesusnowhere.

This had David Rossi's flamboyant and hard-headed signature all over it.

Which was her current motive for murder, though gods know, she had a laundry list of reasons to kill that man.

As soon as she'd discovered what they'd done, she had informed Agent Rossi to meet her in her office immediately, the very second he returned to Quantico. Normally, she would have simply waited for him in his own office, but gods dammit, she needed to regain some form of control—she wanted him to be filled with dread, to feel the dark anticipation building as he rode the elevator, as he crossed the carpet into her office, wanted him to see how the power really played here, to stand before her like a man before a judge and jury, to realize and submit to the fact that she was the one in-charge, not him.

Ever since he'd returned to the Bureau three years ago, she'd put up with his dismissive attitude towards rank (he always called her Erin, not Chief Strauss), she'd put up with his little attempts at skirting regulations (gods, he was like a child sometimes), and she'd even overlooked some of his more egregious faults, because somehow he was still a Bureau golden child, and she'd learned early on that it was easier to let things slip by than to waste time and energy fighting them.

But this was not one of those things.

This wasn't a mere skirting of the rules. This was open defiance of a direct order that she had given to him, to his face.

To make matters worse, she knew that they had been back for almost an hour now, and Rossi still had not made it to her office. Not only had he defied her orders a second time, but he was making it very clear that he had absolutely no respect for her authority.

Well, if the mountain won't come to Muhammad, then Muhammad will come to the mountain.

Unfortunately for David Rossi, the Muhammad coming to him was the one who floated like a butterfly and stung like a bee. And she was ready to fight.

She knew where he'd be—in interrogation, with Morgan and Stanworth, who was already cuffed to the table, simply waiting for his lawyer to arrive. She shot a dark look at Agent Prentiss, who was in the observation room, before giving a quick rap on the one-way glass mirror. Rossi sat up, frowning in confusion, then moved to the door.

His expression shifted from curiosity to irritation as soon as he saw her face, and she graciously let him shut the door to the interrogation room before she spoke, crossing her arms over her chest, "I gave you an order, Agent Rossi—"

"It can wait, Erin—"

"No, it can't." Her voice was so harsh that it actually made Emily Prentiss jump a little. "And really, I think you've pushed the envelope enough today. In fact, we could say that you went above and beyond envelope pushing and set the whole damn thing on fire."

"We are in the middle—"

"I have put up with enough of your fuckery today, David!" That pronouncement was enough to make Prentiss' eyes go as wide as saucers (she'd never seen Erin Strauss so livid before, and although it was kind of fascinating, it really also was scary as hell, and she was wishing that she could simply leave the room, but she would have to slip past the blonde section chief and draw attention to herself, and she really didn't want that).

Erin brushed past David, not even deigning to look at him as she commanded, "My office. Now."

He followed behind her like a thunder cloud, hovering over her shoulder as they moved quickly down the hall, "We were right about this guy, Erin—"

"That isn't the point."

"Then what the hell is the point? We just helped an innocent man—"

She whirled around suddenly, and he nearly bowled her over, caught off-guard by her abrupt stop.

"You openly defied my orders twice," she hissed, the venom unmistakable.

"Jesus, that's what this is about? Some petty grudge match? Erin—"

"Section Chief Strauss," she corrected through clenched teeth. He gave an incredulous huff as she whirled around again, setting off at a quick pace.

He rolled his eyes as he moved after her again, "Look, Chief, you wouldn't sign off—"

"Because you didn't have enough evidence!" Her voice was reverberating through the halls, and Stanworth's attorney would arrive any second now, and it simply wouldn't do to have him overhear the BAU Section Chief admitting that they actually had no real evidence against his client (yet). That obviously was no concern of Erin Strauss, who continued with her tirade, "Holy Hell, David, why couldn't you just do like I told you, why couldn't you just—"

He had to get her out of the hallway. So he grabbed her upper arm (which of course earned him some verbal protests), opening the nearest available door, which happened to be an empty interrogation room, and hauling her inside (with perhaps slightly more force than necessary).

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She jerked away from him. He closed the door and he saw a brief flash of fear in her eyes (and he didn't know whether to hate himself for making her fearful or to hate her for thinking him so untrustworthy).

He held up his hands, trying to show that he meant her no harm, "Look, this creep's lawyer is on his way in now, and if he hears you going on about how we didn't have sufficient proof to make an arrest, it could—"

"Because you don't have sufficient proof, and that's only half the problem!" She moved away, rubbing her forehead in aggravation. This man was giving her a migraine.

"We had to act now, while there was still—"

"No. No, no, no, you didn't. You should have done exactly what I told you to do, which was—"

"To back off? To take the coward's route? To let politics win again and let an innocent man take the fall?" Now David Rossi was finally as angry as Erin was, moving the end of the table as he held his hands open in question. "We weren't going to let this man get away with another murder, Erin."

"And neither was I—"

"You were going to let him walk!" David slammed his hands on the edge of the table.

Erin shook her head, "I was not; I was—"

"You didn't even believe us—"

"Of course I believed you! I always believe you!" She countered David's movement, slamming her own hands on metal table top, shaking David's hands, which rested on the opposite end.

There was a breathless beat as Erin Strauss' words sunk in.

She looked down, embarrassed by her own runaway emotions. "I never...I didn't doubt yours and Agent Morgan's theory. But there simply wasn't enough to build a solid case. That's my job, David. I'm supposed to protect you, to protect all of you, and sometimes that means that I have to protect you from yourselves."

"We don't need your protection," David bristled at her border-line condescension, and the implication behind her words.

"Yes, you do," Erin's voice was rising with her renewing anger. "You're just too stupid to realize it."

Of all the things that she could have said to David Rossi, that was the one to trigger a landslide of some his deepest insecurities.

"Too stupid to realize it?" After a childhood spent on the outside looking in, David had developed a need to prove that he was something more, that he wasn't every stereotype that came with his heritage and his hometown. "My daddy didn't get me into an Ivy League College, Miss Breyer, but I think I'm smart enough to—"

Erin started laughing incredulously, "Are you serious, David? That's the card you're going to play? The Daddy card? Do you really think that has any effect anymore?"

"It does, or you wouldn't have said anything," he countered.

"The guilty always speak," she surmised dryly.

"So they say," he shot back, and there was a beat as they both looked at each other, understanding the meaning behind his words (so they say, but we never speak of all the things we've done, all the things we're guilty of).

"It's a wonder that you get anywhere these days," her tone was quiet, but it held a passive sense of anger just beneath the surface. "You're forever looking backwards."

"It's better than being a coward," he retorted.

She pressed her lips into a thin line at the barb, taking a deep breath as she tried to explain (for what seemed like the thousandth time, because these people were apparently incapable of comprehending basic criminal procedure, despite their famed brilliance), "I can't stand before an oversight committee and condone rouge actions based on hunches. I wanted to catch this guy just as much as you did. I wanted to take the time to gather evidence, to build our case, to make sure that he had no loophole, no single chance of getting away with this again. I never told you to abandon the case. I never called you off Stanworth's trail. I simply pushed for more facts, which you didn't have at the time. I pushed you to bring me something more. Derek Morgan is a determined man, and though I do not approve of his current actions in the least, I will admit that he is a good agent. He would have found what he needed to put Stanworth away, if you hadn't allowed him to simply run in there, guns blazing—"

"No weapons were fired—"

"You know what I mean," she cut him off, still not looking at him. With a soft shake of her head, she spoke, almost to herself, "All you had to do was wait."

She looked up again, her face haggard as she quietly asked, "Why couldn't you just trust me? Why couldn't you just wait?"

If David Rossi had a single ounce of anger left in his body, those pitiful green eyes completely destroyed it. He suddenly felt as tired as Erin Strauss looked.

She stood a little straighter, her expression hardening as she spoke again, "We have worked together for over twenty years, David. I may not have always agreed with your methods, and yes, there were even times when I disagreed with your infamous hunches, but you know that in the end, I always believed you, and I always personally supported you, even when I couldn't do so from an official standpoint. You know that. You know."

He bowed his head. She was right. He did know.

With another shake of her head, she took a deep breath, "I will have to take disciplinary action, once this case is settled."

"Disciplinary action?" David's head snapped up again.

"You defied orders twice, and in doing so, you put the lives of your fellow agents at risk, not to mention the hundreds of civilians at Stanworth's party. I can't ignore that, Agent Rossi. I can't and I won't."

"Are you serious, Erin?"

"Section Chief Strauss. And yes, I am." By now, she was back in her mental armor, rising to her full height while fixing him with her most impassive stare.

"That's a pretty petty way to deal with a little hurt pride—"

"This has nothing to do with pride."

"Oh, please," he crossed his arms over his chest, his dark features filling with righteous indignation. "You've been gunning for me ever since I came back, riding my ass about every little thing, just looking for a chance to throw me under the bus—"

That barb definitely hit its mark, because he saw her shoulders jump ever-so-slightly at the bus reference (it was no secret, what she'd done to Alex Blake). He continued, "You've turned it into some personal grudge match between me and you, and you let our past relationship get in the way—"

"And what kind of past relationship would that be, exactly?" Her words were heavy, dangerous, full of threat, just daring him to speak of the unspeakable. Then she took two solid, measured steps toward him, her eyes still locked onto his, "If anything, Agent Rossi, I have let our 'past relationship', as you put it, affect my better judgment. Do you know how many times I haven't called you out for insubordination? Do you know how many times I've let you slide by? If you want to accuse me of being unprofessional, then accuse me of letting myself be trampled on—on an almost daily basis—simply because I didn't want to be accused of exactly what I'm being accused of right now. Accuse me of putting my neck on the line time and again for this team, this team that only bites the hand that feeds it, this team that holds only the greatest contempt for me, my authority, my responsibilities, and my attempts to actually help them."

Her entire body was shaking now, and her fists were clenched, nails digging into the flesh of her palms as she tried to hold back an even greater wave of pure hurt and anger. Her words had some effect on David, because he stopped, simply looking at her as if he were seeing her for the first time in years. Still, she wasn't finished—she was going to drain every ounce of poison from this wound, and if she couldn't earn his respect, then she would at least make him realize the depth of his injury to her.

She moved closer, her voice low and very, very still, "You want to paint me as the villain here, David, but if you're going to do that, then you better use the right damn brush. Make sure you lay the right accusation at my door. And let the accusation be that I was too much of a friend to a man who has been nothing but the bitterest enemy to me."

With her last pronouncement, her voice shook with a venomous hurt that betrayed all the darker, tangled feelings underneath, and David was slightly taken aback by her sudden rush of emotion. He was used to seeing Angry Erin, but there was something deeper running beneath the anger.

The bitterest enemy. As dramatic as her words might seem, she had a point. But she'd carefully omitted all of the reasons that he'd become her enemy—the betrayals, the capturing and breaking of his heart, the carelessness of her passing appetites, the cruel way that she refused to relinquish her hold over him (because even now, even when she was all fire and brimstone, an apocalyptic angel of fury, he still thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he hated her for that, for being herself while being so far from what they used to be, so far from what she used to be for him, so far from what she used to allow him to be for her).

"Oh, Erin," he said softly, the corner of his mouth curling into a sardonic smile. "You always played the martyr so well."

She gave a smirk of her own, with a slight nod (she'd expected no less from him, because they weren't the kind who apologized, for anything, for any reason). "We all have our roles to play, David."

There was a beat, a moment in which her admission let things click back into some odd sense of balance.

"We made the right choice tonight. A ruthless psychopath is finally going to pay for his crimes, and an innocent man will finally be pardoned after twenty-five years." His voice was still gentle, still lined with compassion (though not for her, never for her).

"I never said you were wrong," her voice was equally soft, filled with fatigue and too spent from anger. The wind had left her sails, and she no longer wanted to fight, no longer needed to be in-control or in-charge. She just needed to be away from this man, who always knew exactly where to wound her, exactly which weapon to use. She turned to go, adding over her shoulder, "But you will have to answer for your actions."

"And what about you?"

His voice stopped her as she reached for the door. She turned back to face him, her face cautious, filling with a careful sense of dread. He continued, moving towards her again, "Will you have to answer for your actions, too?"

She stepped back, trying to put more distance between them, "I don't know what you're talking about, Agent Rossi. I made it very clear that—"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he advanced again, his irritation rising. "And it has nothing to do with this case."

She took another step backwards, retreating until her back hit the wall. David hated the image that this created—he hated himself for inspiring such fear in her, hated her for being so weak, for no longer being the woman who would simply swing back, who would fight him until her dying breath (hated that this was not the first time that she'd been like this, hated that this wasn't the first time that she'd looked at him as if he were a monster). He shook his head, looking at her in strange wonder, "Why are you acting so afraid?"

"Because I am afraid," she admitted.

"Why would you ever be afraid of me?" Her confession actually caused a physical pain in his chest.

"Because I don't know you anymore." Her voice was soft, saddened with the truth of her words. Then her tone hardened again as she glared back at him, "And you obviously don't know me."

"That's not true."

With a slight huff that indicated her disagreement with his statement, she slipped past him, moving back to the door.

And before he could stop the words, they tumbled out of his mouth, "Ah, here we go, the Classic Erin Strauss Move—always the first to leave."

She stopped, the slight clench of her shoulders informing him that his arrow had hit its mark, squarely in the center of her spine. For a moment, she simply gripped the doorknob, not turning back to him.

"David, don't rehash that old fight," Erin closed her eyes, allowing herself a second to simply feel some pity for this man (though she made sure that she kept her tone unaffected and mocking, so that he couldn't know how she truly felt, how she actually ached for him, for all the things he did not and could not ever know).

"I wouldn't have to rehash it, if for just once, you would stay long enough to simply talk about it," he informed her, and he hated himself for sounding so whiny and clawing and needy.

She turned to give him a dark look over her shoulder, "I'm not your mother and I'm not your therapist."

Then she moved back to him, her voice dipping lower as her eyes stayed locked onto his, "And I'm certainly not your goddamn punching bag."

There she was, his sparring partner of old, defiant and daring him to take a swing. But he didn't want to spar. He wanted to draw blood, to have something real, to feel a moment of actual reaction from this stone-faced woman. An unreadable look passed through his eyes, and then he quietly agreed, "You're right, Erin. You're none of those things. You aren't anything to me at all."

"Liar," the word slipped from her tongue before she even knew it, a knee-jerk reaction to his childish bullying ways, and suddenly she blushed with the realization that there had been too much emotion behind her words, too much please-don't-let-it-be-true and please-don't-stop-loving-me.

He read her reaction like the bold print of a front-page headline, a smug smirk on his dark features as he realized that on some level, Erin Strauss still wanted to matter to him, still wanted to mean something (which meant that he still mattered to her, that he still meant something).

"Did that upset you, kitten?" Of course, he never was one to simply notice something, not when he could point it out and make her even more uncomfortable.

"Of course not," she lied, and they both knew that she was lying. The sudden use of her former nickname brought up another strange surge of conflicting emotions, and all she wanted was to be away from him as quickly as possible.

"Liar," he returned easily.

"We're both liars," she informed him flatly.

"That's one thing we have in common." He didn't say what the other thing was.

"I don't want to have this discussion, not right now—"

"Aw, c'mon, Erin," he was moving closer again, and every nerve ending in her skin was sending off little alarms. His tone was laced with sarcasm as he added in a stage whisper, "It'll be our little secret. You already have so many dirty little secrets, what's one more gonna hurt?"

Oh, he always knew just what punches to land, even when he didn't know just how powerful they were. So many dirty little secrets. Of course, he was referring to the nights in hotel rooms, the angry exchange at the Christmas ball six years ago, the little things that meant nothing compared to the secret that she'd literally carried inside of her body for nine months, the secret that now walked about the earth as a sixteen-year-old boy, the secret that she would die to protect.

David realized too late (he was always too late when it came to Erin Strauss) that he'd pushed too hard. He meant to goad Erin, to finally prick her enough so that she would finally say something about all the things that had been bouncing between them for years and years, but he'd pushed her to the point of breaking, and now she was shutting down, shutting him out. She simply shook her head, reaching for the doorknob again, giving him one last pitying look as she opened the door, "Poor David. You always were the type who couldn't see the forest for the trees."

He leaned forward, placing his hand on the doorframe (not blocking her path, not hemming her in or making her feel trapped, but still getting as close to her as he could, as close as he dared), his tone low and filled with something between a threat and an invitation, "Then why don't you enlighten me, Erin?"

He was so close that his presence actually overwhelmed her. She stopped for a full beat, her mouth opened and closed without a sound, and her eyes locked onto his mouth. She could see the vein in his neck still throbbing from their shouting match and smell his cologne and feel the heat radiating from his body, and even now, even when she was so full of anger and hurt and pity, she still found every thought flying from her mind and her heart skipping a beat simply because he was physically closer to her than he had been in almost a decade.

Her mind flashed the one secret that would forever separate them: You know nothing about what we really used to be, you know nothing about how I bore you a son, how I love him for being so much like you, how I loved you (perhaps still do) for giving him to me, how you will always hold this horrible grip on my heart, making me jump and pine for you, for simply a smile, a thank you, a kind word, a small semblance of the old affection that was once between us, but no, no, no, you'll never know because I can't ever risk telling you….

This was David's last volley, his last chance to try to get a response from Erin Strauss, his last attempt to let her feel better by giving some snarky retort or final threat before walking away (because yes, he'd let her have the last word on this subject, in this moment, if it would take the strange, sad, fearful look from her eyes, if it would make her become his hard and shining fighter again).

However (as usual), Erin didn't respond as planned. She simply turned those doleful eyes to his as she quietly confessed, "I'm afraid there are too many trees in our forest now, David. It's too big and too dark for you to ever really see it all."

With another heavy sigh, she slipped out into the hallway again, back to the interrogation room where Donald Sanderson was being held. Today had been absolute and utter hell in so many ways, the least she could do was find some sense in hope in watching a truly innocent man finally walk into freedom after a quarter of a century of doubt, ridicule, and injustice.

If her BAU agents had simply waited long enough to gather proper evidence, she wouldn't have to worry about another man, a guilty man, a dangerous man, walking free due to a legal technicality. But she wouldn't think about that now. Right now, she needed distance.

David Rossi watched Erin's retreating form, blonde curls bouncing as she pushed herself into a power-walk that always bespoke a sense of assurance and fortitude which he knew that she didn't feel right now.

He used to know exactly how to push her buttons, how to goad her into a temper, how to push her to the edge of infuriated insanity. She used to react to his words and manipulations, billowing into a pillar of fury, fighting and pushing back, pushing his own buttons, forcing him to a place of red-hot anger, too. Now, every time he tried to do that, she simply shied away, becoming tearful and fearful instead of angry and brilliant. And she didn't push back any more (she never pushed back, not when it really came down to it—sure, she'd stand her ground for a little while, but it wasn't the same as actually striking back).

Maybe she was right. Maybe they no longer knew each other. That simple thought was enough to stop his heart. And maybe she was right about the rest, too—they were too far gone, too far along on this dark path to ever turn back to the way things were.

Had they finally reached the point of no return?

June 2013. Rural Virginia.

"I must say, I love how you just gloss over your more insubordinate actions," Erin's voice was dry, yet somehow still warm with amusement.

David looked over at her, "Whaddya mean?"

The conversation was interrupted by the pounding of Mudgie's mammoth feet on the cedar deck as the lab brought back the toy that his master had been tossing into the back yard in a game of fetch. David and the dog played tug-of-war for a few seconds with the toy, and eventually, Mudgie gave up. Then David stood and threw the toy as far into the yard as he could, and the dog bolted again.

From her seat in the lounge chair, Erin watched this exchange with a smile. David glanced back over at her, with her reading glasses perched on her nose and his laptop balanced on her knees as she read the latest chapters on his next book, and he waited for her to resume the subject.

"The Sanderson case," she clarified.

"Ah, yes."

"There seems to be things….missing."

"I figured it was for the best."

"Probably so," she admitted, leaning over to grab her lemonade, which was resting on the deck, next to her chair. This action gave David a perfect shot of her cleavage, and he voiced his appreciation for the view. She simply gave him a warning look, which of course only made him grin even more.

He moved, sitting on the end of her lounge chair, taking her bare feet in his lap as his fingers began massaging the pressure points on the balls of her feet (because although he did love what her heels did for her legs, he hated how they hurt her toes).

"Just remember, bella, all that happened years ago. And tonight, I made you dinner and massaged your feet."

She chuckled at the reminder, "Well-played, Mr. Rossi."

He grinned, too, but then his face became serious, "The part that I didn't write about…the discussion we had in the interrogation room…you were talking about Christopher then, weren't you?"

She stopped, slipping her glasses from her face as she quietly admitted, "Yes, yes I was."

"So…so now I see the whole forest?"

She was surprised that he remembered every word from a conversation that took place almost three years ago, and yet she was touched that he'd treasured every moment with her, even the darker ones, had kept them in the pristine halls of his memory.

"Yes," she smiled softly.

"Good," he smiled, too. Then he leaned forward, taking the laptop from her, closing it and setting aside.

"I was reading that—"

"You can read later." He assured her, leaning forward for a kiss, and she gladly met him halfway, her hands tenderly cupping his face. Then he was slipping her feet out of his lap, somehow moving between her legs as she leaned back on the chaise, his mouth rejoining hers as he hovered over her.

"You know what I like the most about all the parts that you don't put in your books?" Her voice was husky, filling with warmth and something just a shade darker.

"What, bella?" He took a moment to taste her neck.

"The reason that you never shared those moments," she whispered, kissing the curve of his jaw.

He thought back to that morning spent by her pool, when he'd confessed to coveting every moment, every second spent with her, and he felt the first stirrings of desire in his blood at the meaning behind her admission.

"You like that I covet you?" He asked, his own voice dipping into a purr as he bestowed little kisses down her neck, across the tops of her breasts, punctuating each question with a kiss, a taste of her flesh. "That I am jealous of every moment spent with you? Every glance? Every touch? Every almost-touch?"

This inquiry was interrupted by Mudgie bounding onto the deck again, still yipping excitedly for his master to play some more. Erin laughed and pushed him away again, "For goodness sake's, play with that poor baby. I think he sees you less than I do these days."

He chuckled in agreement, taking a moment to ruffle Mudgie's ears—the dog dropped his toy and began licking his master's face in response, and David merely laughed (and Erin's heart lifted a little at his laugh, so easy and free and deep, and the way it made his face seem ten years younger, more carefree and less burdened by reality). He scooped the chew toy off the deck again, teasing Mudgie with it a few times before actually throwing it again.

Then he turned back to his lover, "Now where were we?"

"I believe you were coveting me," she supplied, and he hummed in agreement.

"Yes, I believe I was," his hand slipped over the curve of her hip, up her ribcage and under her shoulder blade, pulling her closer as he leaned in for another kiss.

She made a face, pushing him away lightly, "You smell like dog breath."

Of course, her distaste did not deter him—in fact, it only incited him further, and he tried to kiss her, laughing as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp, and she cursed him in protest when he finally did kiss her, groaning in dismay as he buried his face in the curve of her neck

"Now you smell like dog breath, too," he informed her gleefully, and she reached up to spat him on the chest.

"David Rossi, you are horrible. A horrible, horrible ass."

"All very true, mia cara. But I'm a horrible ass who loves you."

"You have a funny way of showing it," she retorted, grimacing as she tried to wipe away the remnants of dog slobber that had transferred from David's face to her skin.

"How about I take you upstairs and give you a lovely bath to prove just how much I love you?" He asked, leaning forward again. His face was mockingly sober as he vowed, "I promise, I'll make sure to wash away every bit, from head to toe."

"Well, I suppose that's the least you can do," she gave a shrug of feigned nonchalance, as if she had no idea what a bath with David Rossi would entail.

"And I'll massage away every ounce of stress caused by being in love with a horrible, horrible ass."

"Will you, now?" Her tone suddenly filled with amusement.

"Yes. I happen to have a personal masseuse who has taught me several tricks of the trade."

She gave a low hum at the reference. Then she sat up, her eyes dancing in the waning sunset. "Well, with an offer like that, how could I refuse?"

He grinned, rising to his feet and offering his hand to help her up as well. She placed her reading glasses atop her head as she grabbed their glasses of lemonade, and he scooped up the laptop and they both padded on bare feet across the deck, to the large double-doors of the huge open den.

"By the way," her mouth was curling into a smirk again as he opened the door and she breezed past. "Who ever said that I was actually in love with this horrible, horrible ass?"

Oh, that woman. She never let him have a single easy victory, not even for a minute. And truly, it only made him love her more.

"When it comes to love, compassion, and other feelings of the heart, I am rich." ~Muhammad Ali