A/N

I haven't written much lately, but then I remembered that I had this chapter almost finished, so I wrapped it up and decided to post it. Hopefully motivation and ideas will return soon, but in the meanwhile I guess this is better than nothing. :D


After taking a shower, Alex decided she had to at least try and talk to her husband. This was ridiculous. They couldn't have a decades-long marriage and then break up through text messages. It seemed a bit too middle school for her taste. She sat down on the bed, wishing she had a strong drink to wash down the bitterness with, then decided that right now hard liquor was probably going to do her more harm than good.

Besides, she was, technically, still on duty.

She stared at her phone with intense dislike bordering on hatred, although she knew it wasn't responsible for her feelings.

"Text message," she said out loud. "Really, James."

The migraine Rossi had invented as an excuse seemed about to become a reality; it was building behind her eyes like a looming thundercloud. And God, she was still freezing; it was as if the warmth hadn't quite convinced her body of its presence yet.

She called James's number and he answered on first ring, not bothering with "hello".

"Listen Alex, I didn't send that to taunt you, I really did send it wrong," he said in an irritable voice that she couldn't stand. It was his entitled voice. "Alex and Ashley are right after each other in the phone list."

"I know, but discreet meant I wouldn't have to get any indications on what's going on," she said and massaged her neck. "I didn't want to know. Maybe you could have named her 'Mistress' or 'Hot Student' or…"

"Did you call to whine?"

Had she been whining? Yeah, she probably had. But she thought she was allowed at least some of that.

"No. I just wanted to hear you tell me you want a divorce, and not hide behind text messages."

"Alright," he said, took a deep breath, and said "Alex – I want a divorce."

She hid her eyes behind her arm as if there was someone in the room who could see the fresh tears forming.

"Okay. I hope we could do this without dragging lawyers into it, though."

"No. I want every piece that's mine."

After 20+ years, how many things in a household belonged exclusively to one spouse? The majority of all purchases, like furniture, and cars, were made together, at least in their marriage. Personal items were a different thing, she couldn't imagine that James would have much use for her chess game for example, but…

"Alright. Write a list of all the things you want, then, so I know when I get back which things will be gone."

"You don't get it, Alex. I want the house."

"You have got to be kidding me!"

"Don't get upset now," he said, as if she was a kid who had just dropped her ice-cream cone on the ground. It was that belittling tone that flipped the switch. She raised her voice, and she almost never did.

"Why would you want the house? You live in Boston! You work in Boston! You have your girlfriend" – she practically spat the word – "in Boston! You even have your parents in Boston! Why would you want the house in DC?"

"I think you should calm down before you give yourself a heart attack," James said, but he sounded like he was just trying to avoid the subject.

"You know what's attacking my heart right now? You are." But she tried to get herself back under control. This was escalating beyond what she was prepared to deal with now.

James sighed loudly.

"Look, I have some work to finish up and then…"

"I know. Out and celebrate with your…" she swallowed the word she was about to say, horrified and disgusted by herself. She had never called another woman slut or whore in her entire life and she wasn't going to start because her husband made shitty decisions. "… with Ashley." But there was one more thing she needed to get out of her system. "Does she give you that 'my hero' look?"

"What are you talking about…?"

"The 'my hero' look. Oh, you know exactly what I mean. Because if she is, then I know what it is about her that you really want. And that's not an equal relationship."

"An equal relationship?" he said, and now there was steel in his voice. "Like ours?"

Silence was often Alex's preferred strategy when dealing with troubling situations, but this time it wasn't a strategy, she just didn't know what to say.

"I'll hold off with the lawyer until you're back from the case and can talk to your own. You have to find someone else than the one we've had, since he's already taken my case."

"Your case? Our marriage is a case? So it's going to turn into a courtroom drama?" she said.

"I want the house. The amount of drama is all up to you."

"Well, it's my home, so say I will create one hell of a drama to get to stay there."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Because Ashley doesn't know," Alex coaxed, and an unhappy little smile played on her lips. "You never told her you were married, did you? I'm curious, what did you tell her? Does she think you're already divorced? A bachelor? Tell me, what does your story make me?"

"I told her I was a widower," James said. "So I guess that makes you dead."

Before she could think of anything to say in response – but she doubted she could have found a suitable response at all – he hung up. Alex stared, open-mouthed, at the phone for several seconds before turning it off altogether.

"Well, I guess it does," she mumbled to herself.

All of a sudden, every limb in her body felt heavy, and she couldn't sit upright another moment. It was as if all her willpower, all her strength, had been poured into that phone call and now there was nothing left to hold her up. She collapsed rather than laid down and pulled the bed covers over her. They were generously stuffed with goose downs and as fluffy and warm as you could ask for. She curled up in foetal position, pulled the covers up over her head and only left only a small opening so she could breathe. In the warm, muffled darkness she could finally begin to process the overload of feelings, this time not aware that she was crying, yet with a relentless stream of tears running down her cheeks.

Ten minutes later, she was asleep.

It was not a restful slumber.


Rossi lowered his phone.

"Voice mail again."

"Well, if she has a migraine it wouldn't be odd if she turned the phone off," Hotch said. He looked closely at his old friend. "Unless there's something about this that you're not telling me."

Rossi sighed, knowing he could only fool Hotch about half the times he tried. At least that was mutual.

"There is, but you don't need to know what. Regardless how you look at it, Blake is not well right now."

Hotch glanced at his watch.

"I get what you're asking. Okay. Go to the hotel and check on her. We're still waiting for Reid and JJ to get back from the coroner's office anyway."

"Thanks Hotch," Rossi said and was halfway out the door when Hotch spoke again.

"Dave? Does she need a doctor?"

"It's not that kind of unwell."

"Alright. Let me know if there's anything I can do."

Rossi nodded.

"I appreciate that. And I'm sure Alex does, too."


A knock on the door roused her from the troubled sleep.

"Alex? Can I come in?"

She rolled over on her back, rubbing her face with both hands.

"No. I look like crap." Not that she had a mirror, but she was pretty sure that wasn't far off the mark.

"You can't look worse than you did when you slipped into that dung heap chasing an unsub at a farm in Nebraska. Both you and Reid looked like crap then. Literally."

"Not funny." But if it wasn't, why did she smile?

"I'm sorry. Honestly. My point is that I've already seen you at your worst, so there's no need to be shy in front of me."

"This is different. This time I'm covered in defeat, and that stinks way worse."

He was quiet for several seconds. Alex thought he had given up when he spoke again, very calmly, but in a manner that did not take no for an answer.

"Alex. Let me in."

Before she could debate with herself whether it was a good idea or not, she had rushed across the floor, opened the door, and then hurried back to bed. Rossi caught a glimpse of a naked thigh before she pulled the covers back up all the way to her chin.

"Sorry about violating the dress code," she muttered.

"The dress code is the least thing I'm worried about," he said, took the chair from the desk and sat down next to the bed. "I'm worried about you, Alex."

"I'll be alright," she replied and tried to smile. It didn't look very convincing, but it was a brave attempt, and it made him admire her even more.

"Why don't you put on something and we'll go down to the hotel restaurant and have an early dinner?" He could sense her disapproval before she voiced it, so he added; "There won't be a lot of people there at this time, the rest of the team won't be back at the hotel for several hours, and you've got to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"It doesn't matter, you've got to eat anyway. You probably already know that I didn't buy that story that you lost so much weight your wedding ring keeps falling off – actually, that sounds more like a lie I'd pin on your husband – but you have lost weight lately, and you can't afford to lose much more. And I happen to know they serve excellent steak."

At the mention of steak, her mouth watered a little – so she was hungrier than she thought – but she shook her head anyway.

"I'm fine. I just want to be alone."

"You can be alone after dinner."

She glared at him. He didn't flinch.

"Just humour me," he said.

So she did.