The Waste Land

Part One: The Burial of the Dead

'All men would be tyrants if they could.'

Daniel Defoe

'April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.'

T.S. Eliot – The Waste Land

Author's Note: I started this way before the finale, and damned if I'm going to ignore all the effort I put into it. That said, I'm posting this first chapter to capitalize on the post-finale blues. First few chapters are already written, so the more you review, the quicker they'll go up. Many liberties taken with back-story, as a lot of we haven't really been given everything. Betaed by the awesome Windy City Dreamer.

Chapter Two – On the Shoulders of Giants (Rossi)

When David Rossi thinks of his youth, he thinks of his days as a rookie in the FBI. To think about his childhood is another matter altogether; if you asked almost any other member of the team, they'd insist that he came out of the womb in his jeans and sports coat, with a smug look on his face. Hotch wouldn't say that – of course, he is said to have been born in his suit anyway.

But contrary to popular belief, David Rossi was, in fact, subject to a childhood, and a relatively happy one at that. Fifty-three years, six months and nine days ago, Anthony and Maria Rossi immigrated to the USA, joining the half a million other Italian-born immigrants in New York state. Less than a month later, their third son, David was born.

David was a quiet child – as he often jokingly tells people, he never had the ego until he sold his first manuscript; it was all downhill from there.

One thing that David Rossi has had since childhood, though, is his ability to read people. He could always tell when his mother was upset, or when his father was angry, no matter how much they tried to hide it from their children. It wasn't easy for first-generation immigrants to raise a family in this strange new place; both of his older brothers left school early in order to help support the family. It was a fate that Rossi was fortunate to avoid.

The young boy possessed an intelligence that was unmatched by any of his siblings; a sharp mind and quick wit that allowed him to become the first Rossi to graduate from an American institution of higher education. But he didn't stop there.

David Rossi became a legend.

Successful though he was, Rossi never fails to remember the reason he had been able to come so far. He never fails to remember the sacrifices that had been made on his behalf.

Anthony and Maria Rossi eventually died, in the same neighborhood of Buffalo, NY that David Rossi had grown up in. A hundred times, the prodigal son had offered to buy them a house, to help support them in their old age – it was the least he could do. Each time, they refused.

With their deaths, Rossi thinks he might have temporarily forgotten the meaning of the word family. His siblings had spread, and though they tried to see each other as often as possible, it was difficult. It took a return to the BAU for him to remember what it was like to have a family.

Though they are not blood, there is some deeper kinship that binds them. Ties forged in the depths of hell. He knows these people like he knows himself.

It's why, when he first sees the look on JJ's face, he knows that things are definitely not good.

***

Morgan's expression is one of barely concealed anger; George Foyet had humiliated the profiler the last time the team had been in Boston. Had mocked him with the possibility of death, and then never followed through. It was an exercise intended to shake the team's foundations – to show them who was really in control. Though Morgan's attack had unnerved them, they had not taken the notion seriously until Foyet had escaped from prison.

If Morgan is angry, then that is nothing compared to Hotch's mood. The Unit Chief boasts an unusual mix of anger, guilt and anxiety, none of which is evident upon looking at his face. But Rossi knows Hotch better than most, and he knows that this is having a far more detrimental effect on the Unit Chief than he would ever admit.

It's a misnomer to say that all profilers have memorable adversaries. Most of them seem to go ten, sometimes twenty years catching small-time serial killers – not necessarily the lowest of the low, but definitely not the high caliber ones. Not the killers that go for twenty years uncaught, taunting police and civilians alike. Those kinds of killers don't come along very often.

Rossi has been posed the question of his greatest adversary many a time; usually he responds (in a smug tone) with the name of one of his ex-wives. It's an answer that always seems to draw a few chuckles from the audience. Really, though, he thinks the idea of an adversary is a much more abstract concept. For David Rossi, his adversary is every case left unsolved, every killer left uncaught. It's one of the reasons why, this time, he's determined to bring George Foyet to justice.

'Boston,' JJ begins. 'Less than two hours ago, police were called to this scene.'

The photos flash onto the projector screen. They're not particularly gruesome photos – God knows they've seen far worse. The thing that terrifies them more than anything, though, is the symbol painted in blood that identifies this as a kill of the Reaper. The eye painted in blood; it almost seems to be mocking them.

'Carrie Elliot, 19. Stabbed thirty-eight times, throat slit. Her body was found in her car in a back street. Police are still canvassing the neighborhood.'

'Was there anything left at the scene?' Hotch asks sharply, and it's evident that Morgan too is burning for the answer. This case is unfinished business for both of them.

'Nothing has been found yet,' says JJ simply. 'But the police are still looking.'

Rossi finds himself frowning. 'He's a narcissist. He wouldn't leave Morgan's credentials out of sight. He needs to make sure that they're found.'

'What are we saying?' asks Prentiss, a frown starting to crease her own face. 'That this is a copycat killer, or that Foyet kept the credentials for other reasons?'

'It's too early to say,' concludes Hotch. 'If it is Foyet, he could be playing with us – trying to test us. We shouldn't jump to any conclusions just yet.'

He's being cautious, Rossi knows – the last time Aaron Hotchner and George Foyet had crossed paths, Foyet had come out on top. There's a look of determination on everyone's face that this team will run themselves ragged to catch this guy, copycat or no.

'It almost parallels Foyet's actions with the ninth victim,' Reid comments. 'He took a personal item from the ninth victim, and didn't leave it with the tenth, but with the eleventh.'

'Only Foyet was the ninth victim,' counters Morgan. 'The circumstances aren't exactly the same.' His expression has deepened. In this case, he is the surviving victim. Rossi doesn't think that Morgan likes being called a victim.

'It's something we need to consider though,' reasons Prentiss, and Morgan isn't about to argue.

'Are there any links to Foyet's previous victims?' Reid asks aloud. This could be a personal thing.

Garcia, who is sitting beside Morgan, laptop at hand, strikes a few keys in rapid succession. 'Nothing on the surface,' she announces. 'But I can run some deeper searches.'

'You'll have to do it remotely,' says Hotch matter-of-factly. 'You're coming with us.'

Garcia is goggle-eyed at the order. It's not often that she gets to escape the confines of her lair; the fact that Hotch wants her expertise at hand gives credence to the importance of the situation. Because even if it isn't Foyet, Rossi knows the awful truth.

This isn't going to be pretty.