A/N: Well done to Guest for spotting the mention of Abs from NCIS. There's another couple of well-loved characters hinted at that nobody has picked up yet...any Closer/Major Crimes fans out there? ;-)

100 (S5E9)

You have not lived today until you have done something for someone who can never repay you ― John Bunyan

Foyet was dead. Rossi had seen that coming. No great loss there.

Haley was dead. They'd all heard it happen. There were times when Rossi thought he could still hear it happening.

Sam Kassmeyer was dead. He died trying to keep Hayley safe. It hadn't worked.

Hotch was a mess. Of course he was. He'd lost the love of his life, who wouldn't be?

Strauss was out for blood. Not if he had anything to say about it. Bitch.

Rossi was exhausted. The bags under his eyes almost matched the ones under Hotch's. He just grunted absently when Strauss spoke, unable to meet her gaze. She reminded him of an affronted duck with that pouting frown. She probably thought it made her look imposing. It didn't. If he'd looked up right then, he'd have either finally lost his temper with her or laughed at her, neither of which would have helped Hotch and the rest of the team any.

It had been bad enough going through it first time around, without being made to relive it for the record, to justify every move Hotch had made, every decision he'd taken. Strauss wanted to know why Foyet had been killed rather than captured. She wanted her little drama, played out in front of witnesses.

She wanted a sequence of events she could string together that would hang Hotch out to dry.

Rossi had extremely limited patience with the witchhunt circus she'd created. Not that he would have had much under normal circumstances, but right then he simply just didn't have the energy to keep his anger completely in check.

Since it had all happened, he'd been splitting his time outside work between Hotch and Pip, and had barely been home. One to be the shoulder to lean on, the other to be the one doing the leaning. Rossi would never have been able to get Hotch through arranging Hayley's funeral without Pip's understanding and support. Hotch normally held everything inside, so when he was pushed too far and had to let it all out, it was like a dam bursting, or an avalanche: brutal, all-consuming and totally destructive. It had been horribly painful to watch.

In his role as Hotch's longest-standing friend, it fell to Rossi to help him through the worst thing that had ever happened to him. That meant lots of late nights at Hotch's place and it meant several dreadful hangovers. It also meant nightmares, for both Aaron and Jack, so sleep for Rossi had become a rare commodity. On top of that, he was the one to contact the funeral directors. He had been the one to organise the flowers. Hotch faced each question about the funeral with a vacant stare and left Rossi to decide what would be best. It was a draining experience.

In turn, Pip was the one to help Rossi. He had clothes at her place now, and more - he'd practically moved in. Hotch lived much nearer her than to Rossi's mansion and it was easier to crash at her place than drive home on nights he couldn't bear sleeping on Hotch's hateful couch. It was fine to sit on, but not to sleep, somehow there was always a lumpy bit digging into his back.

Rossi wanted to be nearby in case they needed him, a bit of foresight that paid off more than once. Pip made no complaints about his coming and going at all hours, always leaving something in the microwave for him to eat in the evenings, always ready with a coffee or a scotch or a hug if he needed it. She even moved Mudgie in with her temporarily, rather than leaving him to be cared for by his housekeeper. Rossi saw more of his dog at her place than he would have at his own in the past two weeks.

Between all that, the work went on. Only consulting work, granted; they were grounded while Strauss carried out her little dog and pony show, but the piles of files felt larger than usual, and they were a man down. Pip did what she was able to spread the work around as much as possible, marshalling her team to lend help however they could, but it still felt overwhelming. Rishi's replacement had a baptism of fire, landing right in the middle of the Foyet aftermath.

Rossi still wasn't sure Floyd Griffin would stay. The kid was maybe twenty-three but looked about fifteen, with the ghosts of teenage acne still emblazoned across his face. Bright, no doubt about that - he had an IQ closer to Reid's than anyone else's. Bright, but with that came a lifetime of learning and very little real-world experience. His first day in the BAU had probably been rather a shock, and Rossi wouldn't blame him if he wanted to leave. Being presented with the costs of Foyet's death, financially as well as figuratively on one's first day at work was a hell of a way to start one's career.

Pip did what she could with the work, but still Rossi was stretched too thin, trying to do too much. Hotch held up a brave face for Jack, but privately was a broken man. Rossi was the one that bore that burden. The team was still nominally in Morgan's hands, but everyone turned to Rossi for assistance instead, all hoping to seek some wisdom, some…some insight he'd learned through his considerable experience in the BAU. Anything that would help them deal with what had happened. Not that he had any, but he'd probably saved the Bureau shrinks quite a few sessions. He bore that burden too. Rossi felt like he was carrying the world.

And through it all, Pip carried him.

So by the time Strauss sat him down to "evaluate" what had happened, Rossi's control was running on empty. He was sleep deprived and emotionally drained from being Hotch's sole grief outlet. More than that, he was angry at the woman sitting in front of him.

Determined she wasn't going to get this all her own way, Rossi started his interview with a quip about gold prices. Pip had helped him there too. She'd given him a brief rundown of the recent history of Erin Strauss and Rossi had no qualms about using what he knew to irk the Director a little. She'd lost a lot of money recently thanks to some poor decisions she'd made playing the commodities markets, and he couldn't help but wonder if she was hoping for a promotion and a pay raise for getting rid of Hotch - a man the Bureau had grown very nervous about in the last few months.

He knew he'd struck a nerve when she turned off the recorder to try and remonstrate with him. Tired as he was, Rossi grinned inside. He'd spent more than two years being Pip's verbal sparring partner, and Strauss had nothing on her. Pip could eat a bowl of alphabet soup and shit a better argument than Strauss. He shot her down without even trying.

Score: Strauss: 0, Rossi: 1. Game on.

Then she tried to justify the post mortem she was doing on the events of that day. Rossi threw the word "bureaucrat" at her like an insult and watched smugly as the barb struck home.

Score: Strauss: 0, Rossi: 2.

She questioned their decision to wait to breach the apartment they'd tracked Foyet to. Rossi gave up scoring points, and just told her, secure in the knowledge that he'd already made his opinion of the interview abundantly clear.

But even so, how could you explain to a career desk jockey how it felt to be waiting outside, waiting for it to be the right moment to go? How it felt just to be still, when every nerve and muscle and sinew screamed for action? The endless watching and the impatient pacing up and down? How could he put into words the tension, and the bitter tang of unspent adrenaline adding to the acrid scent of sweat in the air? To describe the racing hearts and irritation of chafing vests and the constant thought that they might be too late, that by waiting, Foyet was getting further away?

He did his best.

At least killing Foyet was the easy part to explain, because Rossi agreed with what Hotch had done. Whether it was down to his Italian heritage, or his brief association with the gangsters in Long Island, he didn't know. He didn't care to examine the reasons. Rossi saw nothing wrong in Hotch's actions.

When loved ones were threatened, all rules cease to exist.

Was it better to have a chance to say goodbye? Or was it worse than not being able to? A question Rossi didn't know the answer to.

What he did know with a certainty, was that if it had been Pip that Foyet had killed, that if it had been her death the team heard broadcast; then no power in heaven, no force on Earth, could have stopped him killing Foyet in the most violent, brutal manner possible.

Foyet was wearing a vest so when shooting the bastard didn't work, Hotch beat him to death with his bare hands, because nothing else would have stopped him from killing Jack.

Rossi knew he would have done a lot worse.

Hotch gave them all a little nod as he strode back into the conference room where the team was keeping Jack amused. Whether it was what the team had said, or something Hotch had said, Rossi would probably never know, but that nod told him everything. Strauss had backed down. Agreed that Hotch's actions were justified. He made his way round the table to give Hotch a hug, an action that had become automatic over the last couple of weeks. But Hotch held up Jack in front of him like a shield, and Rossi had to settle for laying a comforting hand on his arm.

It was a good thing, he decided, Hotch's withdrawal from his help. Hotch had staggered, bowed under the grief of losing Hayley in such a fashion, and Rossi had held him up while he regained his balance in the world. Now that Hotch could stand on his own two feet again, he'd retreated a little, wanting to focus on Jack.

Pip scooped Rossi up on her way out that evening, completely ignoring his protests about the piles of work that still needed doing. She tore into his office like a whirlwind and bullied him into leaving his work unfinished, into climbing into his coat and into the elevator. He started to doze off in the truck as she drove him back to her place once more, Pip calming her usual driving style to let him drowse. Somewhat, anyway. It was less like being part of evasive manoeuvres on a battlefield and more like a high-speed police chase, but it was the thought that counted. Rossi smiled in his sleep.

He never remembered waking once she'd parked, nor climbing the stairs with her to her attic apartment. He must have done both, because he woke in her bed in the middle of the night with Pip's arm secured protectively around him. Their usual positions were reversed, Pip behind him and holding him close to her. Rossi felt Mudgie roll over at the base of the bed and drape himself over his feet. He closed his eyes again, letting Pip do the same for him as he'd done for Hotch. Just be there.