A/N: My new goal- To update this story within two weeks.

Walker Street, Port Gamble

Unbelievably happy to see the foyer of his home, sixty two year old Medical Examiner Gris Armstrong drops his computer bag from off of his shoulder and lets out an exhausted sigh. Fresh off of a seven hour shift, the man swears he can feel the weight of exhaustion on his shoulders from the unusual heavy shift for the small town of Port Gamble. A suicide and two natural causes in one shift is more than Armstrong has experienced in a very long time.

Twenty years ago to be exact.

"Oh Mr. Scotch, I am coming," the man jokes quietly to himself as he moves slowly through the traditional styled room towards the liquor cabinet located next to the base of the stairs. Armstrong kneels down at the bottom drawer and suddenly freezes when he spots the drawer slightly open and his ten year old bottle of Scotch. The sound of sipping grabs his attention and he looks to his left, finding none other than the Special Agent David Rossi sitting in his living room.

"Your scotch sucks."

"Rossi," Armstrong gasps. The arrogant agent he remembers from the case that result in Sara Lucy's death sits relaxed in a large sofa chair, swirling a dark glass every few seconds. When Armstrong steps into the living room, he can see dark circles around Rossi's eyes and an anger he doesn't expect to be directed at him. Twenty years ago, Armstrong had chosen to stay out of the conflict between Rossi and Hinders. He spoke directly to Rossi only once and that one time had been conflict free. "How the hell did you get in my house?"

"My friend and co-worker suggested that we find out Hinders plans to do when this is all over- we think he plans to bring my….Agent Hotchner back here but beyond that, we're clueless. So while flying from Reno, I had my analyst look into Hinders and all his friends during that case we worked many years ago and your name popped up."

Armstrong walks over to a chair opposite of Rossi and lowers himself into the chair. He leans back into the chair and mentally prepares himself. "Alright, what do you want to know?"

"I know about the money you are holding for Hinders. A year after the case ended, you received $115,000 not too long after Hinders cashed his daughter's life insurance of the same amount. My analyst also found numerous phone calls from a pre-paid cellphone within this past year. I doubt you two started talking because you wanted to catch up with an old friend."

"FINE! Goddamnit…" Armstrong wrinkles his nose, "Hinders did called me a year after the case from 20 years ago." He runs his finger over the rim of the glass and gives Rossi a nod, "He starts asking about how I felt about you and how you handled things. It was unexpected to even hear from him because he walked out of the police station and his job the day of Sara Lucy's funeral. We all thought that Hinders had moved away to get away from the pain or went off the grid. So him calling….he was my friend."

Rossi forces out a short heavy breath and Armstrong takes it as a sign to continue. "After he had asked about you, he started asking about a serial killer the FBI was hunting in Tacoma, Washington at the time-"

Rossi narrows his eyes and glares hard at Armstrong. "I was working that case….with Aaron."

"I'm so sorry, Agent-"

"Stop. What happened next?"

Armstrong places the glass on the coffee table and pulls the wooden keepsake box that had been sitting center of the table. Quickly flipping the box open, Armstrong pulls out a Greetings from Virginia postcard dated from 2012. "This came in the mail and I should have said something, but…..I didn't want anything to do with his conflict with you. Terrance Vaughn, Mickey Dante who died last year and myself are the only ones that I know who got one from Hinders."

Rossi nearly rips the postcard from out of Armstrong's hands and mutters, "He started following us from years ago….damn. Is there anything else that you can think of?"

"No, I- I can't."

Rossi pushes himself onto his feet using the arms of the sofa chair. He places his glass onto the keepsake box and mutters, "Call me if you think of something. I'm sure something will spark."

The agent nods to his card that's also been tucked under the keepsake box. He moves into the foyer and out of Armstrong's sight in a beat which precedes an anxious squeak of relief from Armstrong. He can't help but lean over the edge of the table to see how much of his 'terrible scotch' the agent had and let out another squeak, this one of disbelief, at the glass being filled with only water and a single ice cube.

Bastard.

Outside, Rossi jogs across the wet grass while dialing Blake's cell phone. After their quick, uneventful landing at an empty field near the Puget Sound, Blake and Reid had gone directly to a motel room to set up their 'command post' while he had driven straight to the M.E's office. Neither Reid nor Blake had questioned Rossi's visit to go see Armstrong; it has him thankful- he doesn't have the strength to get in another argument on his actions.

"Dave?" Blake answers on the first ring, completely out of breath. Rossi stops in his tracks, cocks his head to the right and calls out, "What the hell was that?"

"No- it's nothing, really. How was the-uhm- how was the M.E?"

So believable. Let it pass for the moment. "It's just as we thought- the money Garcia found in the account was used pay Vaughn, a Mickey Dante who died and himself. He's hiding something else- I know it. What's happened on your end?"

"The present Seattle Police Commissioner and Port Gamble's sergeant wanted to….encourage us to leave town and focus on assisting the others back in Nevada," Blake snorts. She harshly whispers something inaudible to Reid before refocusing on Rossi. "We've been here for less than two and a half hours and the big bosses from Seattle managed to drive here and find us. It sounds like they want to cover their asses."

"Oh that's just wonderful," Rossi says, pausing to look up into the sky. It's cloudy but much cooler thanNew Mexico's wet weather. Wherever you are, Aaron, I hope you aren't suffering. I hope that at this very moment, you are at least without pain.

And for Agent Rossi, it's a damn shame that at this moment a few hundred miles away, his hope for Aaron is useless.