On Day 1 of a very hectic weekend, I get the update in just under the wire. Apologies for the delay. Also, a few of you have expressed very good questions; I hope this chapter answers some of them.

ROSSI

Despite having the week off, Rossi was back in the office the next day. He wasn't alone, he noted as he walked across the bullpen to the stairs that would take him to the upper offices. He took the steps slowly, giving his tired muscles the chance to wake up. He knocked softly on the darkly stained door, and Hotch looked up from his files with curious eyes.

"Good morning," Rossi greeted, accepting the silent invitation. He sank down into one of the two chairs positioned on the nearer side of the desk for visitors. They were cushioned with leather and studded with brass, but they weren't terribly comfortable. On his left, the bulletproof windows let in the ever-growing morning light through slanted blinds. The poetic soul in Rossi lamented on another missed sunrise.

"Morning," Hotch returned. "I didn't think anyone else was coming in. I just need to finish up a few reports."

"I left a few notes of my own I needed to grab," Rossi admitted, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder towards his own office. "You hear from Morgan's mom?"

"She called this morning," Hotch didn't look up from his notes. "She wants to hold off on having a service until the final report from the NTSB is in." Rossi had read the preliminary report that stated a severe thunderstorm had been the catalyst in a series of events that led to engine failure. So far, it looked like a freak accident.

Rossi sat up a little straighter. "I saw the photos, Hotch. The largest piece of the fuselage was smaller than my car."

"I know," this time he did look up, and Rossi saw the pain he was trying to mask under his efficiency. He looked back down quickly when he realized Rossi had seen. "Dan called me just a moment ago. They found a few survivors, but none of them were Morgan. They'll be releasing it to the media after the families have been notified."

"How many?"

"So far, seven," Hotch leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped over his stomach in an imitation of relaxation. "I already called Mrs. Morgan and told her, just in case she heard the news and thought…" It was uncommon for Aaron Hotchner to run out of words, but Rossi knew that this was no ordinary situation.

"Yeah." the older agent nodded, he himself unsure of what to say next. Against his better judgment, he had held onto a small shred of hope deep in his heart that maybe Morgan had survived. He knew the chances were small, and that any likelihood of finding him alive shrank with each passing hour. Now, almost twenty hours after the crash, the search and rescue mission would soon turn to a recovery operation.

"I'm going to send all of our existing case notes over to Strauss," Hotch scribbled something on a notepad and tucked it under his keyboard. "She'll disseminate them to the other teams. JJ put together a list of potential replacements last night, I'd like you to look them over." He handed a folder across the desk without making eye contact. Rossi accepted it, but dropped it back onto the desk as he stood.

"Hotch," he tried. When the other man didn't look up, he tried again. "Aaron."

"Dave," Hotch's voice held a tone of warning, but Rossi heard the notes of grief beneath the calm. Rossi sighed and let it go, knowing there was no getting through to the Unit Chief when he was like this. He'd always been closed off and resolutely stubborn about letting any of his emotions leak out of his carefully constructed facade. Professionalism was more than a policy for Aaron Hotchner; it was a law. Nothing had changed since Rossi had come out of retirement, except that the man who had once seemed so young and eager was a little more worn around the edges.

He lifted the folder from the desk and tapped against his other hand a few times. "Call me if you need anything." Hotch nodded, but didn't lift his gaze from his reports. Rossi closed the door behind him and walked the few steps to his office. He switched on the desk lamp instead of the overhead fluorescents, casting a muted glow around the room. His chair was infinitely more comfortable than the guest chairs in Hotch's office, and he felt his muscles relax as he sank into the plush leather.

The folder in his hand wasn't thick, and he wondered at the type of agents JJ had selected to fill the gaping hole in their team. That task had probably been heart-wrenching for the normally upbeat agent, and Rossi marveled at the emotional upheaval that had been caused by the death of Derek Morgan. Hotch had pulled into himself even more, and Rossi knew it would take a remarkable person to completely replace Morgan in his eyes. JJ and Prentiss seemed to be keeping the team afloat, but their grief had been palpable in the room last night. Reid had lapsed into silence, a feat Rossi hadn't thought possible for the normally eager-to-please genius.

Garcia's grief, however, was on an entirely different level. When he'd first arrived, he'd have bet dollars to doughnuts that she and Morgan were an item. Or, at the very least, on the road to becoming one. He'd been surprised to learn about Lynch, and even more surprised when they seemed to act completely oblivious to what was going on between them. JJ had filled him in on their rather unique relationship, and he'd simply accepted it. Garcia's infectiously chipper personality could often make a crappy day just a little bit better, and she was always happy when she and Morgan flirted shamelessly.

Rossi spared a thought for their devastated tech genius, and he made a mental note to check in on her this afternoon. He wasn't sure if she would want to return to the job after this, but from what he knew about her and the rest of the team he had to try. He wasn't sure they could survive losing Morgan and Garcia both.

With a plan firmly in mind, he flipped the folder open to review the names JJ had compiled. It was a short list - as he knew it would be. Replacing Derek Morgan was nigh impossible, but they might be able to find a bright young mind to challenge them and push them on.

The first was a ten year agency veteran who had been passed over for the BAU two years ago when Prentiss had arrived. He had experience in Homicide, and had been decorated several times for valor in the field. His buzz cut screamed military, and a quick check confirmed his service in the Marine Corps for four years after he graduated high school. He'd used the GI bill to pay for his Bachelor's in Criminal Justice, and he'd gotten another in Psychology during his first few years in the Bureau. On paper, Michael Grayson was an outstanding candidate. But Rossi's gut told him something just wasn't right, and he'd learned a long time ago to trust his gut. He set the paperclipped file aside and looked at the next one.

Rhea Arellano's file was an eerie echo of Morgan's own history. With a background as a street cop in L.A., then a stint in SWAT before transferring to an Anti-Gang Unit in East L.A., Arellano definitely had the capability to handle the worst of humanity they often faced. She'd transferred into the FBI's Organized Crime Unit almost seven years ago after her captain had lent her to the local field office for a federal case involving a local gang. Her performance reviews painted a picture of an intelligent, confident young woman with a penchant for daring tactics and out of the box thinking. She had only two negative comments in her file, both from the same senior agent on the National Gang Task Force, complaining about her problem with accepting authority and insubordination. The complaints stunk of a politically-minded superior whose ego had been hurt by a younger agent, and Rossi dismissed them. He set her file aside for further review and moved on to the next one.

The third candidate was another Bureau veteran, but unlike the first two candidates Gerald Mactensen wasn't a current field agent. After the academy, Mactensen spent the first three years of his service as a technical analyst in the Phoenix field office. He had transferred to Dallas after that, switching from the tech pool to Cyber Crimes. He'd achieved his agent status here, and had earned several commendations from his superiors for his brilliance and ability to get ahead of criminals. A car accident had taken him out of the field two years ago, and he'd spent his time behind the desk earning a degree in Criminal Psychology. He'd stayed on the desk despite passing all of his qualifiers, and it was clear to Rossi his talent was being wasted in Dallas.

He scribbled some notes on each candidate, listing their strengths and weaknesses on a yellow legal pad. When he was finished, he tore the sheet from the stack and set it on top of the pile before switching off his lamp. That was enough work for now, he thought. It was time to check in on his team and take care of his friends. And he knew exactly where he would stop first.