Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of "CSI:NY"; they belong to Anthony E. Zuiker and CBS. SSA David Rossi and SSA Dr Spencer Reid appear courtesy of "Criminal Minds" creator Jeff Davis.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Rossi's eyes were killing him. He was reading through witness statements from the kidnappings, and though there wasn't much to them, he read them several times over, hoping something, even if it was infinitesimal, would jump at him. But when the words started to blur together, he gave up for a few minutes and walked the halls. He passed Mac's office, saw his friend crashed on the couch. He didn't look relaxed, though. This was combat sleep, the kind where you were asleep but not, just in case you needed to be up and battle-ready in seconds.

"How do you know him?"

Rossi jumped a little at the sound of Adam Ross's voice. He turned around. "I helped him work a case, a long time ago."

"You guys seem close. Like, buddy-buddy," Adam said.

Rossi nodded. "That happens when you save someone's life."

"Mac saved you?"

Rossi chuckled, not surprised that that was the first conclusion the kid had jumped to. "No," he replied. "I saved him."

The young tech's eyes widened. Rossi saw the hero-worship status that Mac had in the young man's life reflected in his green eyes. "I was in Chicago, working a serial killer case," Rossi said. "Going on about fifteen years ago." He nodded. "Mac was a detective working the case. We'd built a profile on our killer, and we were getting ready to go into his mother's house to get him out."

Adam frowned. "He lived with his mom?"

Rossi nodded. "It's one of the stereotypes that occasionally holds true." He leaned against the yellow walls, remembering. "The FBI SAC was fighting the Chicago PD for territory-typical turf battle between local and feds. And I remember, I looked over at Mac, and he looked at me, and we both decided right then and there that we were sick of bureaucratic crap. I pulled my gun and he pulled his, and we went in without the rest of them."

Rossi and Adam had walked to the stairs, and now Rossi sat down, leaning against the banister. Adam sat a step below him. Deferring respect to the older agent. But hanging on his every word. The tech reminded him a lot of Spencer Reid. Brilliant, but constantly trying to prove he was good enough, even though he'd been reassured numerous times that he had nothing to worry about. Forcing himself to stop profiling the boy, Rossi went on.

"I think both of us knew we could potentially lose our badges over that move, but neither one of us wanted to end up at another crime scene. We went around the back, figuring the guys out front had that covered. Mac opened the back door and I went in. We were in the laundry room, but I figured our boy was probably camped in the basement. I could hear his mother yelling at the officers outside through the screen door." He smiled. "I remember Mac comes up behind her, and goes, 'Ma'am, please step outside.' I thought he gave her a heart attack. He walked her to the door and kind of shoved her outside. I think by that time everyone outside remembered we had a killer to catch and finally shut up. I'm pretty sure I also saw steam coming out of my boss's ears-and Mac's lieutenant."

He paused. "And out of the corner of my eye, I see our unsub-Aaron Paulson-around the corner from the room we'd just come out of. He's got a bead on the back of Mac's neck, and he's got his hand on the trigger. So I turned, and I just…reacted. I fired. Hit him in the leg. Probably a bad shot, considering he could've stilled pulled the trigger. And Mac whips around, sees Paulson on the floor. And I could see it-he'd just realized how close he'd come not five seconds ago."

Rossi shook his head. "He looked at me. I think my hands were shaking so bad I couldn't let go of the gun. He kicked the gun away from Paulson and cuffed him. He puts his away, and comes over to me. And in the calmest voice I've ever heard from anyone, he goes, 'You can put that away now.' I thought it was funny- here he'd almost died and he was telling me to calm down and relax." He looked at Adam. "We've kept in touch ever since. Sometimes he calls asking for ideas, and sometimes I give him a call just to see how he's been."

He stood up. "I think I'll go check in with Reid."

"Yeah, I should get back to the A/V lab, try to pull something from the rink security cameras," Adam added. He stood as well. "I…uh…thanks. For the story, I guess."

Rossi smiled. "Sure." Adam awkwardly turned to leave. That was when Rossi said, "Mr. Ross?"

Adam turned around. "Yeah?"

"You do a good job here," Rossi told him.

Adam furrowed his brow, confused. "I…thanks."

The older man nodded to him. There was a beat, then Adam acknowledged him and left the room with, Rossi noticed, a little extra bounce in his step.

"Hey Stel," Don Flack said. "I think I might have one here." The detective handed Stella a file. Stella opened it and scanned through the contents. "Alan, Leah and Kasey Johnson," Stella read. "Traffic report says they were on the Brooklyn Bridge when a car came from behind trying to pass. Clipped the Johnson's SUV, sent it into the barrier. The little girl were sleeping in the backseat with no seatbelt on. Alan Johnson's air bag failed. And the baby didn't make it."

"The wife was notified after the accident," Flack reported. "Sophia Johnson, age 32." He frowned. "Fits Agent Rossi's profile, huh?"

"She lost her entire family that night," Stella said. "Look at the date- that was just before Halloween-the youngest daughter's birthday."

"Sad, to lose them so young and so fast," Flack said. "And right before the holiday season. It's a tough time of year." His voice faded at that last sentence.

"Enough to send her off the deep end," Stella spoke up, trying to keep him on task. "Hawkes said Ryan Simpson's arms were crossed over his chest."

"Usually means they're sorry for killin' 'em," Flack said. He shook his head. "Yet they do it anyway-how does that make any sense."

"It was an accident," Spencer Reid said as he came into the bullpen. Both detectives jumped. Flack's hands had gone to his gun. "Ryan Simpson choked on a hot dog."

"What?" Flack blinked.

Reid tapped the autopsy report. "Hot dog lodged in his throat. The pressure from her hands around his neck choked him to death, but purely by coincidence."

"Explains the position of the body," Stella said.

"I'm sorry I freaked you out," Reid said. "I was headed outside. Needed some air."

"We can understand that," Stella agreed.

Flack checked his watch. "Eight forty. Breakfast time." He looked at Stella. "Hey, you want me to run down to Signora Barbara's?"

"That sounds excellent," Stella said, her mouth watering as Flack pronounced the name of the little bakery down the street from the lab and precinct.

"I could use an extra pair of hands," Flack told the FBI prodigy. "You wanna tag along, get out for a while?"

Reid nodded. "I…sure, okay."

Flack shook his head-man did the kid remind him of Adam Ross. "All right, lemme grab my coat." He snagged a navy department-issue jacket off a coatrack and nodded toward the door. "Signora Barbara's has the best donuts in the City, I swear to ya."

"I'll take your word for it, I've only ever been to New York City twice," Reid replied, shivering a bit as they stepped into the brisk morning air. Snow covered the sidewalk, but was already melting away.

"Once? Don't you guys work outta DC?" Flack held his fingers an inch apart. "You're like, this far away."

Reid shrugged. "Last time I was here we were hunting down terrorists. Didn't exactly have time to stop and sample the local flavor."

Flack snapped his fingers. "Oh, yeah, I remember that," he said. "You guys did a good job. And I'm NYPD, and we're the best, so y'know, take that with what ya will. Cooper couldn't stop talkin' about that lady agent-Amelia or something. I think his wife threatened to divorce him over it." His grin said he was teasing, and Reid smiled back.

"Emily." Reid said, and Flack nodded. "Yeah that was it. Tell ya what, we get done with this case, you and your FBI buddy stick around the City, do some sightseeing, since we sorta screwed you out of your holiday. Me and Messer'll give ya the grand tour."

Reid's face lit up. Flack bit his lip to keep from laughing at him. He looked…well, like a kid at Christmas. Must've been tough for this kid to grow up so fast, Flack thought as he pushed open the door to Signora Barbara's. "Signora?" he called out.

"I hear ya, one minute!" the crotchety Italian woman yelled back from the register. She turned to the girl in front of her. "That's'a twenty-six fifty, honey."

The blonde handed over thirty dollars and took the two steaming cups from the Italian woman. "Thanks!" she bubbled. "I've got to get home, the husband needs his coffee fix. He's so cranky lately."

"Signora Barbara's is the best cure!" the old lady proclaimed, and Reid couldn't help but grin. The blonde rushed past Reid and out into the snow.

"Donald," Barbara said. "Donald, you're not wearing a heavy enough jacket." She scolded him like he was her son. Flack only laughed as he ordered. "I already got one Mama, Barbara," he said. "But you do a damned good job of making me think you must be related somehow!"

The woman eyed Reid. "Who's the little one?" she asked. Reid turned bright red.

"He's a bona fide genius," Flack said. "He works for the FBI."

"Oh, so that makes him higher than you, doesn't it?" the little woman teased.

Flack handed over his money. "Not in my City, Signora," he replied. "Keep the change."

"I'm serious!" Barbara called to his retreating back as he and Reid headed outside. "You get yourself a warmer jacket! And a pair of mittens!"

On the way back to the precinct, Reid snickered. He couldn't help it. "She really does seem like your mother," he noted. "Or anyone's mother, for that matter. Or maybe, more like that grandmother that pinches your cheek at holiday get-togethers that smells like bad perfume and cats and-"

He froze. He stopped talking so suddenly that Flack turned around in alarm, sure something was medically wrong with the genius, like he'd dropped dead in the snow or something.

"What?" Flack asked him.

Reid's mind flashed back to the bakery. "The woman," he said. "The blonde, the one buying the coffee for twenty-six fifty, the uh, the macchiato and the hot chocolate," he said.

Flack frowned. "You remember that?"

"Detective Flack," Reid said, his eyes wide. "Did you get a good look at her?"

"Not really," Flack shrugged. "I only got her from behind and the side."

"Her facial features…the green eyes, the bone structure…" Reid began walking a little faster. "I've seen that face before."

Flack chased after the kid. "Slow down, Dr. Reid," he said. "What are you getting at?"

Reid burst through the doors at the precinct. "Detective Bonasera," he called ahead to Stella, who was seated at Flack's desk. He startled her, and she jumped sky-high. "I need to see those folders."

Stella slid out of Flack's chair as Reid coasted into it, and began flipping through them. "You were just looking at it….there!" He stood up and laid the file open.

"Jesus," Flack hissed. "She walked right by us!"