A/N
Apparently, my muse liked this fic. I told her to keep her focus on Old Wounds and she insists she can do both. I believe it when I see it. XD
(no, I haven't abandoned that one either).
"Blake? Blake!"
She startled.
"Oh. Sorry. I was… thinking."
"Yeah, I noticed. Care to share?"
She almost capitulated to the kind tone, but in the end decided to keep it to herself.
"No. It's personal."
Rossi nodded, then lowered his gaze to her hand. The last case they had was in Southern California, and the tan Blake had gotten in the sunshine state only enhanced the current absence of her wedding ring. A thin strip of pale skin where it had been seemed almost like the ghost of the ring itself. Blake noticed him looking and thrust both hands into her coat pockets, wishing she had brought a pair of gloves with her. As a stark contrast to San Diego, CA, it was quite chilly here in Northern Minnesota this time of year. It was difficult keeping a go-bag suitable for all the various climates in the US, and she compromised with the result that she was always too hot in the warm states and freezing in the colder ones. Shivering in her far too light coat, she tried to ignore any of Rossi's observations by recounting what they had so far.
"… they were all found with massive doses of ketamine in their systems, and they had been suffocated. So we could be looking for a female unsub," Blake said, doing her best to keep her teeth from chattering. The wind coming from North-East was so cold it was like being whipped. Rossi studied her closely before starting to unbutton his wool coat.
"What are you…" she began when he shrugged out of the coat and held it out for her. "No. I'm fine. Thank you, but I'm…"
"Alex," he said patiently. "You're chilled to the bone. Put this on before you freeze to death."
"So it's better if you do, then?" she snapped, but she was unable to resist the wonderfully warm coat when he held it out again.
"Don't worry about me, I've been inside talking to the people who found the body. You've been out here for the past hour, you definitely need it more," he said as he helped her put it on over what she already wore. Blake revelled in the blessed warmth, grateful for the added bonus of Rossi's lingering body heat. She was so focused on the immediate comfort that she was caught off guard when Rossi said;
"So, was it James or you who ended it?"
"If you're referring to my lack of wedding band, it's nothing that dramatic. I've lost weight so the ring doesn't fit. I don't want it to slip off somewhere. So I took it off."
"Mhmm," Rossi replied, and her blood was at least hot enough to make her cheeks burn from embarrassment. He knew she lied, of course he did. But that didn't mean she had to admit the truth; that her husband was prancing around with a woman young enough to be his daughter. Then again, maybe he really was in love with Ashley. James had always been a sucker for admiration, and an intern would undeniably be more inclined to offer that than a middle-aged woman who had her own professional titles. Never mind that the middle-aged woman had been standing by him for decades. James could be both generous and loving, but he could also be incredibly self-absorbed, always putting himself first. She had always chalked it up to him growing up an only child, barely noticing this trait any longer. Until now.
"Alex," Rossi said in a gentle voice and placed his handkerchief in her hand. "Wipe your face. You're leaking."
To her chagrin, she realised that she had started to cry without even noticing. She was an emotional mess right now, true, but she normally managed to keep her emotions bottled up and only let them out in private. She mentally kicked herself for this lapse in self-control, but it was as if being reprimanded (even though it was by herself) was the final straw. Now she wasn't leaking, she was overflowing. In an attempt to save at least some dignity, she tried to walk away, but Rossi easily caught up with her.
"Let's go back to the car," he said. Mortified, Blake nodded but refused to look at him. This was rock-bottom. It couldn't possibly get any worse.
About twenty minutes later, it did, and with a vengeance. Blake had managed to restrain her emotions again, stoically refusing to initiate conversation with Rossi. She really didn't feel like explaining herself; she'd prefer to pretend this breach in personal control never happened, and she knew Rossi would respect that wish.
Unfortunately, the fates were against her, as proven when she got a text message. Thinking it was Garcia sending the information she had requested earlier, she wasn't at all apprehensive of reading. It wasn't Garcia. It was from James, and it was very clearly sent to wrong woman with name beginning with an A.
"No need to make dinner today babe, I got the promotion so tonight, I'm going to wine and dine and sixty-nine you."
Blake's jaws clenched. Rossi shot her a glance from the driver's seat, noting how she tensed up again.
"Alex? You okay?"
"No, I am not," she replied coldly while composing a reply with movements so hard Rossi wondered if the poor phone would survive the treatment.
"Congratulations on the promotion I didn't know you were going for. I think I'll pass on both dinner and intimacy though, since I'm in Minnesota at the moment, BABE."
She paused and then sent another;
"Would you like me to provide you with a definition of the word 'discreet'?"
"You son of a bitch," she murmured under her breath and found herself missing her long gone brother Danny more than ever. If anyone hurt his little sister, Danny had been more than willing to return the hurt to sender. Even to this day, she felt better just by picturing him punching her two-timing husband in the face.
"James?" Rossi asked, and she nodded in confirmation before she remembered that she had firmly denied anything was wrong with her marriage. She sighed.
"He found himself a pastime in Boston."
Rossi winced.
"Ouch. I'm sorry."
"His 24-year-old intern."
"Has he taken up any sport he used to play in his youth, or maybe purchased a sports car yet?" Rossi asked. Blake surprised herself – and pleased Rossi - by laughing out loud.
"He talks about taking up football. And the car, well, it wouldn't surprise me if that's next."
"And you? What's next for you?"
"Truth be told, I don't know. He still comes home on weekends, if I'm not on a case. We're not officially separated. We keep our conversations civil but shallow. Basically, we ignore the elephant in the room."
She looked down at her phone just as James replied.
"If I were you I wouldn't bother reading," Rossi warned her.
"Yeah, too late now," Blake said, distracted by the words on the screen.
"I am well aware of the definition of discreet. Do YOU know the meaning of the word 'mistake'?"
"If a text makes you that upset, don't answer it," Rossi said.
"If you don't stop telling me what to do, you can let me out of the car right here and I'll walk back to town," Blake snarled. Rossi fell silent, realising better late than never that unless he wanted to be collateral, now was not the best time to aggravate the usually so tranquil linguist.
"Definition of 'mistake'; our marriage. Don't bother coming to DC next weekend."
On one hand, it felt good to bitch. On the other, she resented that she sounded so petty. It was true they had never had a particularly passionate or traditionally romantic relationship, but it certainly hadn't felt like a mistake until very recently.
"I wasn't planning to. I'm filing for divorce."
She couldn't say she was surprised, but breaking up a more than two-decade long marriage over text message felt like an anti-climax, and she started to feel cold in a way that Rossi's coat couldn't do anything about. This kind of coldness was located around her heart.
"How considerate to let me know that much, at least."
She didn't expect another text - he had said all there was to say, and so had she – but there was one more coming, and clearly James no longer cared about her longing for a stable status quo.
"My lawyer will call you sometime next week."
"It wasn't enough that we were three in our marriage the past couple of months, now we're apparently going to drag lawyers into it as well," Blake said, attempting to keep her voice light and failing miserably. Once more, tears streamed down her cheeks. "Damnit, I don't want to cry anymore," she groaned and wiped her eyes almost angrily, but it was to no avail; they quickly filled and overflowed again. She was grateful she still had Rossi's handkerchief so she could hide behind it; she had a feeling she had a face full of makeup meltdown.
"Do you want me to take you back to the hotel? I can tell Hotch you got sick."
It was tempting. A scalding hot shower and then crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head, build a dark, warm cocoon around her to shut the world away…
"No," she said, and immediately changed her mind. The idea of that down blanket cocoon proved to be too tempting to resist. "Yes."
Rossi, not only one of the best profilers in the world, but also a man who had gone through three divorces himself, already knew that would be her answer. Blake was normally both tough and balanced, but right now she was very fragile. More extroverted people dealt better with predicaments in the company of others, but introverts like Blake needed to withdraw and regroup in peace and quiet.
"Do you need anything?" he asked as he parked outside the hotel. She shook her head, feeling weak and stupid, but also thankful it was Rossi who had seen her crack, and not one of the others. They were all sympathetic, that wasn't an issue, but an alpha male like Morgan was the last person she wanted to let her guard down in front of, she didn't want to subject Reid to the awkwardness bound to follow, JJ was a young, pretty woman with an intact marriage, and Hotch was the boss.
"Please don't say anything," she pleaded.
"I won't," he said, patting her now ringless left hand. "You'll get through this, I promise."
She gave him a feeble smile and got out of the car, leaving his coat on the passenger seat before walking towards the entrance. Rossi watched her until she got inside, then took out his phone and called Hotch.
"I just dropped Blake off at the hotel, she's not feeling well."
"What's wrong with her?"
Rossi didn't particularly like to tell outright lies, but he didn't flinch when he had to.
"Migraine."
He had three broken marriages behind him, had doubtlessly hurt his wives unintentionally, but at least he had never cheated on any of them. Nor had he been cheated on. He could only imagine the pain she was dealing with right now, but it was more than enough.
