Where the Heart Lies
"Those who hunt for treasure must go alone at night, and when they find it, it is never what they expect, and they must leave some of their blood behind." ~English Lit Axiom of the Epic Hero, aka The Six-Point Plotline of Questing Tales
*Author's Note: CORRECTION: In a previous chapter, I have Rossi visiting Yates at Hazelton Penitentiary in Jonesville, VA. I got my Federal prisons mixed-up-Rossi would be going to Lee Pen, near Jonesville, since Hazelton is in West Virginia. You need to know this for this chapter.*
June 2013. Quantico, Virginia.
David knew that it was bad news before Aaron even opened his mouth. Still, it was worse than expected.
"A digging crew in Kansas found a body. The Topeka Field Office is convinced that it's a Yates victim."
"Oh, God," David rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was barely past noon, and this certainly wasn't the day to re-open the can of emotional worms that always came along with Thomas Yates.
Aaron's mouth hardened into a thin line as he delivered the worst part, "Yates has been questioned, but he's refusing to answer anything."
David looked up at him with a heavy sigh, "Lemme guess—he only wants to talk to me."
His friend gave a curt nod, his dark eyes filled with pity. Suddenly, a motion down in the bullpen caught Aaron's attention, and he turned to see Strauss clipping across the carpet. "I also should have warned you that Erin knows. She was the one who called and told me."
"She's here, isn't she?" From his vantage point, David couldn't see into the bullpen, but judging from Aaron's reaction, it was pretty easy to guess what had reminded him of that fact.
"Yep," Aaron stepped out of the doorframe, giving a curt nod to his superior, who barreled into David's office with her usual presumptuous air (which used to annoy the hell out of him, but now he just found it comforting).
"Agent Hotchner's told you, then," she didn't even waste time with pleasantries.
"Yes."
"And you're going." That wasn't a question, or even a guess, because she knew her lover and she knew the sense of commitment that he felt toward this particular case.
"Yes." God love this woman for a saint, because she didn't even flinch at the pronouncement, instead simply nodding in agreement and launching into a plan of attack.
"I've already ordered the jet. They can get you to Blountville in about two and a half hours, and from there, we'll arrange an escort to Lee—the airport is about sixty miles from the penitentiary, so if they use their lights, they'll be there in under an hour."
He gave a curt nod of approval (and Erin was thankful that he didn't object, that he didn't insist on driving himself there, which was a twelve-hour round trip by car).
"Since you've got this all sorted out, I'll get back to my consults," Hotch could sense that there was more that needed to be discussed between the two—things that had nothing to do with flights and cars—and he graciously bowed out.
Erin closed the door behind him, taking a moment to simply look at David.
"This was unexpected," she stated the obvious.
"Such is life," he remained stoic.
"You don't mind taking the jet?" She was suddenly hesitant, suddenly not the coolly self-assured section chief, but rather the tender uncertain lover. "I know you tend to think of this as your own personal thing, and I don't mind, I understand, I just—"
"I don't mind," he assured her.
"Good." She gave a curt nod. Then, with a softer edge, she admitted, "I want you home tonight."
"I'll be home," he replied gently, his own voice husky with emotion. "It'll be late, but I'll be back."
Her shoulders shifted in relief, and she moved away from the door, glancing over her shoulder, making sure no one was looking through the window (as if they all didn't know, he thought in mild amusement). Then she crouched between his legs, her hands on his knees as she peered up into his dark eyes, searching for some kind of reassurance that he was truly alright, "And...and what if he gives you a name?"
He knew what she was really asking—if you get a name, will you jet off to make the notification?
"I'll pass it along to Topeka."
"Really?" She was surprised by his answer. "If...if you wanted to go, I could ask Agent Morgan to step in as supervisor, until you got back."
He was certain that he couldn't have loved her more in that moment, with her careful concernities, with her understanding of his ways and his mind, with her own gentle sacrifices (because she'd already admitted to wanting him home tonight, but here she was, offering to let him go wherever he needed, because she knew what this meant for him, because she wanted to put his needs before her own).
He reached forward, cupping her face in his hands, running his thumbs over her cheek bones as he bestowed a kiss on her forehead, "Thank you, bella, but I think it's time that I started letting someone else shoulder the burden. It doesn't matter who shows up on the doorstep, that woman's family is going to be ripped to pieces. I can't change that."
She made a small noise in her throat, something between agreement and condolence, her hands reaching up to wrap around his wrists, holding his hands against her face for just a few moments longer.
"I wish I could go with you," she closed her eyes at the admission. She gave a small smile, "It's silly, I know, but I would feel so much better if I could just be there, just to hold your hand."
There was a sense of commitment, a deeper undertone to this confession that made David want to weep. It was such a simple concept, yet it contained such sheer magnitude, such heavy weight of fidelity and love.
"I wish you could, too," he kissed her forehead again, this time with a fierceness that proved the sincerity of his statement. Then he grinned, his nose gently brushing against hers, his lips finally meeting her mouth, "It would be just like old times."
She hummed in amusement, the vibration rumbling against his mouth, "Not quite."
"You don't think so?" He was teasing now, and Erin played along, willingly distracting him from the seriousness ahead.
"What? You want us to bicker and fuss the whole time, like a couple of toddlers?" She arched her brow.
"Of course not," he assured her. Then his tone dipped lower, "But I would like us to end up in a hotel somewhere—"
"David Rossi, you and your one-track mind," her tone was reprimanding, but she was still leaning forward, still seeking his mouth with her own. "I thought you wanted me for emotional support, and all you want is physical distraction."
"I want all of it," he assured her, returning her kisses between words. "All of you."
"Good recovery," she grinned.
"You should come with us, next time the BAU takes a case."
"And what excuse would I have?" Her voice was laced with amusement.
"I'll think of something."
"I bet you will."
He grinned at her words, pulling her smart mouth back to his own. After one last languorous kiss, she pulled away, hands automatically reaching up to make sure her hair was still respectable.
"You are going to turn me into some horrible cautionary tale about intra-departmental relationships," she didn't seem too worried about this.
David gently placed his hand on her shoulder, stilling her for a moment as he craned his neck to check the bullpen, making sure that the coast was clear before allowing Erin to rise to her feet again. Then he oh-so-helpfully smoothed the lines of her skirt, taking the time to appreciate the curves underneath.
She allowed him to have this brief moment of tenderness, smiling down at him as she gently brushed his hair back into place, "There's some exhibit opening tonight—it's one of Jordan's projects that she's been working on for months, so we're going to see it. Maybe do dinner after. If you're back in time, I'll just meet you at the museum. If not, I'll come back to your place afterwards."
"Sounds good," he gave a curt nod, already saddened by the realization that he probably would have to miss another chance to be around his son and the rest of Erin's family, which were beginning to feel like his own.
"Paul will be there," she added, almost apprehensively.
"I would hope so," David returned easily. "He should support his daughter."
Erin gave a small smile of relief at his reaction. They were still trying to sort out so many things, and her ex-husband was definitely not a popular topic between them, but David understood that Paul would forever be a part of Erin's life, simply because he was the father of her two daughters. David was trying, and for that, Erin loved him.
"The jet will be ready in about forty minutes," she informed him. He gave another nod, rising to his feet as he began gathering the things he would need for his journey into Yates' twisted psyche.
"I'll see you tonight, bella," he promised. She reached over, giving his hand one last reassuring squeeze.
"Be safe," she whispered her familiar refrain as her thumb brushed over the ridges of his knuckles. With a regretful look over her shoulder, she opened the office door and disappeared.
David moved to the window, watching her weave through the bullpen, already missing the simple soothing comfort of her presence and smiling at the fact that it wasn't too long ago that he used to rejoice at her departure.
Another movement caught his eye, and he saw Alex Blake, leaning nonchalantly against her desk, arms folded over her chest as she simply stared up at him. She glanced over her shoulder at Strauss' retreating form, then back to Rossi, arching her brow suggestively (a little something for the road, Rossi?).
David grinned, but shook his head (it's not like that).
She gave him an incredulous look (as if I don't know you, David Rossi).
He crossed his arms over his chest (I resent that implication).
Blake mimed smudged lipstick and ruffled her hair (I saw how Strauss looked before and after she left your office).
Again, he shook his head, lightly stroking his goatee (damn profilers).
With a huge grin of her own, Alex Blake's expressive hands used the ASL sign for busted.
David wasn't fluent in sign language, but he had enough context clues to understand the meaning. He simply laughed.
His colleague pointed at him, eyes narrowing in feigned scrutiny (admission of guilt, right there).
He held up his hands in surrender (guilty as charged).
Now it was Alex's turn to laugh. Then she turned back to her desk, shaking her head in mock dismay.
With a heavy sigh, David turned back to his own desk. It was going to be a very long day.
September 2002. New York City, New York.
It had been a year. One whole year. Just over 365 days ago, the nation had changed in the blink of an eye. History had changed, innocence and trust and security had been destroyed, and the city itself had been forever damaged by the impact.
Alex Blake contemplated all of these things as she sat on the uncomfortable iron-wrought bench outside the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Next to her sat Erin Strauss, a Quantico Section Chief who'd been brought onto the Amerithrax case due to her background in analysis and her former Joint Task Force connections (and also because Ollie Henderson had suffered a heart attack while working this case, leaving the investigation with a big gaping hole where a competent SAC should have been).
Apparently, Strauss' thoughts were along the same line as Blake's, because she gently broke the silence, squinting up at the concrete jungle surrounding them, "I never much cared for the city, but it's sad, seeing how much things have changed."
"Change is inevitable," Blake said philosophically.
"Doesn't make it any easier," Strauss returned. After a beat, she corrected her earlier statement, "It still looks the same, in many ways, but it feels different. Like the air is heavier."
"That's the mournfulness," the brunette informed her softly, and she nodded in agreement.
Then Erin glanced down at the newspaper that was lying under their bench, a few days old, tattered and stained and left behind. The front page was a white and grey outline of the former Towers, with columns upon columns of names typed out in black ink (so succinct, so final, so cut-and-dried, so oblivious to the lives and souls and stories tied to each name). Names without faces, losses without understanding, a quantification of things which could never be fully quantified, bottled up and accounted for with a simple "yes, this was our loss, this is the measure of what has been ripped away from us, this is the final tally of things which could never fit so orderly into rows for numbering".
"2977 names," Erin said, her voice lined with conviction.
"2996 dead," Alex replied gently. Erin looked up at her again, slightly surprised that Blake had included the 19 hijackers in her final count.
"Yes. 2996 dead," she agreed, taking a moment to simply study the younger woman. Something unreadable passed through her green eyes, and then she rose to her feet, "I suppose we should go back—I'm afraid Tomlin will send out a search party if we're gone any longer."
Blake grinned at the quip—Agent Tomlin was the unofficial hall monitor, and he watched the clock every time that someone left for a lunch break (one hour and one hour only, not one hour and ten minutes, not one hour and fifteen, just one hour).
They entered the building, moving back through security checkpoints before crossing to the bank of elevators. They boarded the elevator, Strauss checking her watch and straightening her jacket cuffs in what Alex now realized was a trademark move for the blonde, a weird almost-nervous tic.
Alex liked Strauss. Some people called her a bitch, and Alex could see where that moniker could be true, but she also had to admit to the age-old adage: bitches get shit done.
Erin Strauss was someone who pushed, who got things done, who was unafraid to toe the line. That was admirable, and vital in their line of work. Sure, people had said that Strauss was a fast-tracker, but that didn't faze Blake. After all, she was a career agent, too.
The elevator stopped on another floor, and another member of their JTF entered the elevator, arms full with a box of papers.
"Afternoon, Chief Strauss, Agent Blake."
"Good afternoon, Agent Curtis," Strauss' voice dipped lower, into her 'official' register, her speech more precise and clipped. People's diction and pitch had always fascinated Alex Blake, and she loved listening to how one's voice changed between situations and social faces.
"Looks like quite a box of goodies you've got for us," Alex smiled.
"It took me all night, but I think I've finally got everything we need," Curtis admitted.
Erin suddenly noticed his rumpled jacket and his wrinkled shirt, "When's the last time you actually went home for the night?"
"Wednesday? Maybe Tuesday?" He wasn't sure.
"You should go home and get some rest," Strauss' brow furrowed in concern.
"But the case isn't closed," he replied simply, as if he couldn't fathom ever leaving an investigation for something as trivial as sleep.
Erin's mind quickly catalogued how to express her concern in a way that John Curtis would understand, "Agent, you're of no use to this investigation if you're deprived of sleep. You lose functionality and efficiency, and in the end, it could make you more of a liability than an asset."
This time, he saw her logic, "Very true, Chief Strauss. I'll be more mindful of that in the future."
She gave a curt nod of approval. After a beat, she noticed that he was still mentally chiding himself for possibly compromising their case through his over-diligence, and she felt a pang of pity. She'd merely wanted to express her concern for his well-being, not chastise him for actually being a dedicated agent.
Most people wouldn't have been bothered by her comment, but Erin Strauss was quickly learning that John Curtis wasn't most people—he had a singular determination, a sense of commitment that went above and beyond most others' loyalty to the Bureau. He was one of those true-blue patriots, who saw his job, his service to his country and the FBI, as the ultimate achievement of his life, and the only worthy pursuit thereof.
She smiled slightly, attempting to soothe the uneasiness that she'd created, "After all, you are one of our best assets. You're the smartest man in the room on this one, Agent Curtis—probably the smartest man in the Bureau."
Alex gave a small nod of agreement, silently understanding Strauss' intent. She'd known Curtis for awhile now, and he'd always been quiet and efficient, but this particular case had pushed him to a level of dogged determination that surprised her.
We have to be the heroes, he had told her. After all that's happened, we need a win, and this is the case that will make things more bearable. People expect us to catch the bad guys. We have to. It's our function in society. We have to be the heroes.
She contemplated Curtis' past words, taking a second to fully appreciate the fact that this truly was her life—riding in a elevator, next to one of the smartest people in the world, and one of the FBI's great rising stars, working on a case that would define the course of a nation's history, a case that was vital to the nation's healing, a case that would make her career and make them all by-words in academy classes for years to come.
We have to be the heroes.
We are. We are the heroes.
June 2013. Lee Penitentiary, near Jonesville, VA.
As usual, Tommy Yates was humming an eerie tune as Rossi entered the room. However, this time, it wasn't the familiar Happy Birthday refrain.
Rossi was pretty sure it was Hail to the Conquering Hero.
Sick bastard. David wanted to punch him in the face. Instead he pasted on his driest smile, feigning a sense of amusement which he did not feel.
"Cute, Tommy," he lightly tossed a folder onto the table. Yates sat a little straighter in curiosity, but he didn't actually reach for the file.
"I have to admit, Agent Rossi, I was expecting to see you back here much sooner."
"Why is that?"
"Aw, c'mon, David. We both know that I'm your special project. I can't believe you even let those other guys try to question me."
"I didn't know anything about it until after the fact," David admitted. Then his expression hardened as he added, "And you're not my special project. You just refuse to speak to anyone else."
"And you always come when I call," Yates finished with a smug smile.
"Here I am," David opened his hands in a magnanimous gesture. "So tell me her name."
Thomas Yates leaned forward, tilting his head towards the still-closed folder, "Don't you have some pictures to show me first?"
"Nope."
"Agent Rossi, you aren't playing fair."
"I'm not here to play fair, Tommy. I'm here to get a name."
"But those aren't the rules. You get one name, once a year. You've already gotten Janie, and not even a full month ago." Yates sat back again, his eyes dancing with the hint of a smile. "I guess you'll just have to wait until next year."
David gave a weary sigh, "I was afraid you'd say that."
He rose to his feet and moved back to the door. It was a dangerous move on his part, because Yates might not actually stop him from leaving, but it was how they played the game—Thomas Yates, insignificant little fuck that he was, needed to feel as if he had power and control. He needed to feel as if he were the one manipulating David Rossi, not vice versa (though David found some small bit of satisfaction in knowing that he could pull Yates' strings, without ever letting him catch on).
"Leaving so soon?"
David didn't turn to face him, "All I want is a name, Tommy, and you've made it very clear that you're not going to give me that name. So my job here is done."
"Oh, c'mon, Agent Rossi, faint heart never won fair lady." There was something behind Yates' tone, something that had begun to prick the first sensation of warning across David's skin. "But you already know that, don't you?"
He couldn't know. He couldn't. He was just using everything he could, until he hit a button. David took a shallow breath to steady himself.
"That's why you became an agent, isn't it? Daring deeds, saving damsels in distress—you're a regular white knight, aren't you, Agent Rossi?"
He didn't know. David's bones almost melted in relief. Still, he carefully kept his body the same, slowly turning back to Yates, "And what does that make you?"
Thomas Yates ignored the question. "Any knight who's been on a quest knows that, in the end, you have to leave some of your blood behind. There has to be a kind of sacrifice, in order to get what you want."
David didn't respond. He simply waited.
Yates continued, "But you already know that, too, don't you? That's why you drive all the way over here, that's why you go out to notify the families, that's why you keep that little list with you. And that's why you brought those photographs, which you still haven't shown me."
He motioned to the metal chair, which was bolted to the floor, "Sit down, Agent Rossi. Don't pretend that you didn't know how this would end. You know me, perhaps better than anyone else."
That was meant to be a compliment, but it only made David feel like a monster. Still, he had to acknowledge the truth—he did know Thomas Yates, he understood him, he could walk inside his mind and his thoughts as easily as breathing. He wished like hell that he didn't possess such ability, but he did. He did and he had to use that ability as the gift that it was meant to be, as the tool that it was, as the means of bringing some closure to old wounds and ending reigns of terror for other monsters just like Yates. He had to do this, because no one else could, or would.
His parents had always taught him that was the measure of a man, the measure of a true hero—setting aside your fears and your reservations and your own distaste, simply to get the job done, to do what no one else had the courage or ability to do.
This is your gift, his mother used to say. It seems like darkness, but it is your gift, and you must use it, David. You must use it, as a gift to others.
So he fought back another wave of loathing as he sat down again, his eyes locking onto Yates'.
This wasn't about David Rossi. This wasn't even about Thomas Yates. This was about a woman in a ditch in Kansas who deserved to be buried in peace and dignity, and a family somewhere who had lived with unanswered prayers and terrifying questions for God-only-knows-how-long.
"First," David placed his hand over the file, keeping it just out of Yates' reach. "You give me a name."
Washington, D.C.
Erin was halfway through the exhibit when she heard her phone buzzing in her purse, and she stepped away from the others as she found it, glancing at the screen and being relieved to see David's name glowing back at her.
"Hey," she answered gently, unsure of what his emotional state might be.
"I'm headed home, bella. We're getting ready for take-off right now." He sounded tired and flat.
"Good." She gave a curt nod of approval. After a beat, she asked, "Is there...did you get a name?"
"I did."
"And you're truly alright with letting someone else handle the notification?" She hated to press the subject, but she knew how David felt about this case in particular.
He understood her concern, because he gave a light sigh, "There was a time when I would have felt like I needed to go out and do the notification myself. But right now, all I need is to be home. With you."
This simple admission was enough to bring tears to Erin's eyes, and not for the first time that day, she wished that she was at his side.
"I'm here," she replied softly. "And I'll be here when you get home."
"I know," there was a huskiness in David's voice, though he sounded too tired for tears. In the background, she heard some mechanical noise, and David spoke again, "I've gotta go, bella. We're taking off."
"I love you," she said before she ended the call. She didn't have to wait to hear his reply.
She already knew.
Rural Virginia.
David's heart filled with a now-familiar warmth as he spotted the gunmetal grey crossover parked under his carport, the silent herald that his lady-love was already quietly tucked away in his bed. He smiled to himself as he pulled his car into the space next to Erin's.
He gave another small smile as he bounded up the porch steps and greeted Mudgie, who was enthusiastic as always about his return. Then he climbed the stairs and walked across the landing, where he could see a familiar silhouette underneath the covers.
The large bedroom window curtains were open, and when David's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see the stars twinkling in the velvet sky—Erin loved how clear and crisp the universe seemed from the clean air of the country, and when she was here, she often left the curtains open so that she could stare up at the heavens. She never lost her wonder for the beauty of nature, and that filled him with a soft wonder in turn, so he didn't mind it at all.
He quietly discarded his clothes, meticulously placing everything in its proper place, being careful not to disturb the sleeping blonde. Then he slipped beneath the covers, relishing in the warmth already created by her body.
Erin stirred when she felt the mattress shift, turning with a sleepy smile towards him, her leg easily swinging over his hip as she pulled them closer together.
"You're home," she beamed, still sleepy and adorable as she kissed him.
"I'm home," he returned the smile, relishing the feel of her naked body against his. She always did that—slept completely nude on the nights that she was with him. It was as if she couldn't stand the thought of anything—even a mere strip of clothing—being between them. He certainly didn't mind.
She pulled him closer again, their hips and abdomens flushed together as her mouth traveled across the line of his collar bone. Her kisses were deep, slow, sensuous.
"Tomorrow, bella," he whispered, too tired and too emotionally drained to explain any further.
She seemed to understand, because her mouth ceased its movements and she simply laid her head on his chest, her blonde crown fitting so perfectly into the curve of his neck as his fingers loosely toyed with the curls that were now disheveled by sleep.
After a few moments of simply letting him unwind by playing with her hair, she turned her face upwards, her lips blessing his own with quick, tiny kisses, as if she was siphoning his love in small doses. Then his hand went deeper into her hair, holding her head as his tongue parted her lips, deepening the kisses. She responded with a small hum of approval, her tongue loving his own.
Then she pulled back with another smile, still happy but much more awake as her green eyes found his brown ones in the darkness.
"Tomorrow?" She repeated, though there wasn't much question about it.
He kissed her forehead tenderly as he confirmed, "Tomorrow."
With another sigh of happiness, she turned away from him, back to her open country sky, smiling as she felt him pull her back into him again, their bodies melding together in a way that was familiar and comforting.
The skin on her back was warm and smooth against his chest, and David's closed lips came to rest on her bare shoulder, which peeked above the covers like the dawning sun. His arm was around her waist, and her fingers were threaded through his own, tethering him to her.
Home was not a place. It was not even a feeling. It was a blonde woman who could infuriate and entrance in the same breath, who endlessly fascinated him, like his own personal Sphinx, forever filling his life with riddles and new delights. It was the deep certainty of knowing that he saw her, as she truly was, on every level, and knowing that he was the only true witness to her beautifully complex and intricate life's story, the sole keeper of her keys, the lone guardian of her soul's gate, the one chosen above all others to know and to see, to have and to hold, to keep and to cherish. It was letting his heart fly from his chest to nest in his lover's hands, and receiving the same fragile, tender gift in return. And wherever his heart was, that was his home. And now, David Rossi knew that he was truly, deeply, unmistakably home.
In a moment of utter clarity, he realized that if this were his last night on earth, he would die the happiest man in the world—curled up beside his soul's true mate, listening to the gentle sound of her breathing as he looked out at the night sky, the promise of another morning filled with warm kisses and sleepy, sweet love-making just as certain as the sunrise.
Of course, he didn't plan on this being his last night, not by a long shot. There was still so much to do and to see, to know and to discover, so much of the world to share with the woman sleeping peacefully in his embrace. The world was still uncertain, there were still so many things to be settled and righted, but for now, he took the moment as it was—a simple joy, the gentle breath after a long journey, the moment of knowing, quite wonderfully, that for now, he was well and truly home.
"I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more—just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door. When I wake up, well I hope I'm gonna be the man who's waking up to you, and when I'm dreaming, well I know I'm gonna dream about the time I had with you." ~The Proclaimers (words rearranged according to the cover by Sleeping at Last—which you should go listen to, it's beautiful, haunting, perfect)