ROSSI
An hour had passed before his phone rang. He dug it from his lapel pocket and checked the screen before answering. The other people in the command tent didn't even look up from their tasks as he spoke.
"Rossi," he greeted Hotch.
"Dave, have you heard anything?" He sounded eager, and Rossi found he couldn't really blame their Unit Chief. They dealt with so much death and destruction in their everyday jobs, and the grief that had enveloped the team during this case had been a shroud on this entire investigation. Hotch often ignored his own emotions in favor of making sure his team was taken care of, and the past few days had been no exception. If anyone deserved a glimmer of hope, it was Aaron Hotchner.
"Not yet," Dave answered. "What about you? Any luck tracking down our flight attendant?"
"Actually, that's why I was calling," he replied evenly. "Garcia managed to track down a series of payments to Michael Rosenbath that led to a shell company funded by an organization opposing SanTech's latest developments. Whatever Rinks was working on, it wasn't very popular with a few of the extremist groups."
"Unpopular enough to kill over a hundred people for," Rossi growled. He really hated extremists, especially those that thought their cause justified hurting or killing innocent people.
"Officers are on the way now to apprehend the owner of the account," Hotch said. "Rosenbath had a number of felony arrests as a minor, but his record was expunged before he went to work for United. He was also a rather unlucky gambler." Rossi could almost hear Hotch's frown as he detailed the life of the disturbed man who had crashed a plane to kill one person. "He'd accumulated quite a bit of debt, and after his doctor told him he had less than a year to live he decided he wanted to leave his family with more than just deficit."
"How much did they pay him?" Rossi wondered.
"Two million."
Rossi gave a low whistle. "I didn't realize corporate assassination was so lucrative."
"Needless to say, SanTech's opposition will be held accountable," Hotch said, then lowered his voice. "Garcia's packing everything up now. Any new information?"
"I'll try to find out more, but it's probably going to take a while to search the area. I'm not even entirely sure how many square miles we're talking about here."
"Alright, keep me updated."
"Will do, Aaron." Rossi keyed his phone off and stowed it in his lapel pocket. After taking a steadying breath, he turned in place and found Bob Brenning speaking to the young runner from before. Rossi's mind worked to supply a name, and by the time he made it to them he was smiling.
"Evan, it's good to see you again," he clapped the young man on the shoulder before shaking Bob's hand. "Bob," he greeted. "Any word from the search parties?"
"They've checked with a few of the locals in the area," he confirmed. "So far none of them are reporting a stranger in the woods. They're going to hit a few more houses before the sun goes down, then pick it back up in the morning."
"Thanks," Rossi nodded. "I just got word from Agent Hotchner," he told them. "They found the person responsible for the crash."
"Good," Bob's face tightened in anger. "I hope he rots in hell." Rossi thought he might have spit on the ground if not for being indoors.
JJ stepped up next to him and tapped him on the shoulder. "We're headed back to the station," she told him.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to hang out for a few more hours, see if they find anything." He glanced at Bob in askance, and the old cowboy shrugged.
"I can drop you off on my way back into town," he offered, and JJ nodded in agreement.
"Alright, I'll let Hotch know." She shared one last look with Rossi before disappearing through the tent flap.
Most of the agencies had gone back to their hotels for the day, leaving the command tent eerily quiet. Rossi accepted Bob's invitation to sit at a nearby table, and Evan fetched them all drinks from the daily-stocked cooler.
"So how often do you do this kind of thing?" Rossi asked the older man, and Bob took a long drink of his soda before answering.
"Not often," he said. "I was a small town sheriff in Texas for almost thirty years. After I retired, my wife and I moved out here to be closer to her family. I sort of just fell in with the volunteer community, and when they need us we respond."
"What about you, Evan?" Rossi angled his body to include the young man in their conversations.
"I'm from here," he shrugged. "I want to be an EMT," he continued. "I've done some work at the hospital, and when they mentioned this I thought it would be a good experience."
"You still want to be an EMT?" Rossi was only half-joking. For anyone not used to it, this level of carnage could be off-putting.
"Yes sir," Evan nodded enthusiastically. "These poor souls didn't have much of a chance, but others do. I want to help them."
"Good for you," Rossi praised.
"What about you?" Bob prodded. "How'd you get into the FBI?"
"Same as everyone else, I'm afraid," Rossi joked. "I started out bright-eyed and full of energy, like Evan here." He tipped his can toward the boy. "Sometimes I miss the simplicity of those days."
"So you guys catch serial killers?" Evan leaned forward in his chair eagerly, and Rossi chuckled. He'd obviously been chatting with Reid.
"Sometimes," he confirmed. "The BAU doesn't just focus on murderers, though that is probably the majority of our cases."
"So you've seen a lot of bodies, then," Evan guessed.
"Too many," Rossi nodded grimly. "Way too many."
"How do you keep from losing it?" It was clear that Evan's line of questioning was becoming more than casual interest, and Rossi set his can on the table and sat up a little straighter.
"You have to find something to remind you why you do it. Even if it's something small, you need an anchor to your humanity or you go crazy. I knew a profiler who kept a picture of every person he'd ever saved in a little journal along with their name. Others have family they can cling to, or friends to talk to. Every one of us is a bit different." Then, sensing there was more to Evan's words than he was letting on, he continued. "Helping people is a noble profession, and not everyone can do it. Just remember that. Everything else will fall into place."
"Right," Evan sat back and mulled over the words as Bob's phone broke the ensuing silence. Rossi tried not to appear too curious, but the way the retired sheriff was nodding and answering it was difficult to keep his questions off his face. When Bob hung up he pushed his chair back and stood.
"That was Darryl Massey," he said as though Rossi knew who that was. "He wants us to meet him at a house nearby. He might have something, but the owner is being ornery."
"Let's go," Rossi jumped up from his seat and patted Evan's shoulder as they passed him. "See you later, kid."
As the crow flies, the house was only a few miles away, but it took them nearly half an hour to navigate the winding dirt road. They reached a turn off decorated with a variety of "Keep Out" signs. Rossi's eyes barely caught the nearest one as they passed through the gate and slipped through the trees.
"Trespassers will be shot," he recited. "Survivors will be shot again. Friendly bunch around here."
"It's not Texas," Bob agreed. "These folks like to keep to themselves."
There was a single sheriff's vehicle sitting next to two rusted trucks, one that had probably once been red and another that was peeled down to its primer. Tangled fishing poles rested against the far side of the red one, and a bit behind the main house sat an old dog house that looked just a few years newer than the house.
Two county deputies were standing on the porch looking half-scared and half-annoyed. It was a wonder they hadn't been ousted by gunfire yet, but Rossi guessed it was their uniforms that saved them. In his sport coat and jeans, Rossi was more likely to take a bullet if this went badly.
As they got out of Bob's truck, the younger deputy sighed audibly in relief. "Thank God you're here, Bob. He won't let us in."
"Man's got a right to his property!" A voice answered from within, withered with age but no less spirited for it. "'Less'n you got a warrant?"
"No Lincoln," Bob hopped up the two small stairs at the base of the porch to join the conversation. "No warrant. You've done nothing wrong. We're just looking for a young man who might have survived the plane crash."
"Plane crash?" The voice countered. "No plane crashed in these parts. I'd have seen it."
"It's a ways from here," Bob agreed, "but the young man we're looking for survived and may have walked away."
There was a moment of silence, then the door cracked open. The man behind it appeared to be older, dressed in a pair of old jeans and a button up flannel. His white hair stuck up at an odd angle at the back of his head, and his face was covered in a fine scruff, lightening his weather-worn skin. He was fit for a man in his seventies, the years of tolling on the land evident in his broad shoulders and calloused hands. He appraised the group on the porch with a keen eye, as though he could tell lies from truth by simply staring them down.
"How do I know this isn't some trick for you to come in my home and snoop around?" His question was directed at Bob, but his sharp blue eyes never left Rossi's face.
"Sir," the agent stepped forward, "the man we're looking for is my friend. If he's inside your house, please let me see him."
"If he's your friend, then describe him." It was first real confirmation that there was someone else in the house. Rossi grabbed his phone eagerly and found Morgan's contact info, complete with a goofy profile picture the younger man had posed for.
"Here," he turned the screen toward the man. "His name is Derek Morgan. He's an FBI agent, like me. Everyone thought he died in the crash. His mother is making plans to bury him right now."
He seemed to contemplate this for a moment. Then he sighed. "Alright," the man stepped back. "Just you."
Rossi rushed forward into the house, following the quick gesture of the owner to a back room tucked behind a staircase. The door was closed but unlocked, and when Rossi turned the handle and pushed he let out a huff of air that shook with the relief that slammed him.
"He ain't opened his eyes since he stumbled into my yard," the man explained. "It was a damn chore gettin' him into bed, but he didn't look too bad. Had some blood around his head that I cleaned up alright, and some nasty bruises that mean his ribs is probably broke. He ain't gone into shock or seized or nothing, so I figured he just needed to rest up a bit. Thought maybe he was a hiker or somethin' that got lost. I've managed to get some soup and water into him, but just barely. If no one came lookin' by tomorrow, I was gonna head into town and get the doc."
True to the man's word, Morgan looked bruised and cut but not seriously injured. Rossi leaned over the man and gripped his shoulder.
"Morgan," he tried once. "Derek can you hear me?" Morgan groaned softly, but didn't open his eyes. Rossi took a breath and tried a different approach. "Morgan!" This time the man jolted and stirred. "That's it, come on. I need you to open your eyes, Derek." He glanced over his shoulder and found the man leaning against the door jamb. "Could you please go ask one of the officers to call for medical help."
"I don't want a bunch of people swarming my land!" he barked.
"I need to get this man to a hospital," he snapped back. "The sooner that happens, the sooner we all leave you alone."
"Alright," the man grumbled. "Be glad to be rid of ya." He disappeared from the door as Rossi sat on the mattress.
"Hang on, Derek," he gripped the man's hand tightly. "We're gonna get you home." He didn't know if Morgan could hear him well, but he kept speaking to fill the silence. "Garcia is gonna have kittens when we tell her. Everyone will," he added with a chuckle. "As soon as we get to the hospital, I'll make sure somebody calls your mom."
He pulled his cell from his pocket and shot Hotch a quick text. After a few seconds the device buzzed, and Rossi smiled at the response. "Guess they're meeting us there." Distant sirens grew louder, and Rossi kept talking about everything Morgan had missed about the case and investigation. He moved aside as medics assessed his condition and loaded him onto a gurney. Rossi didn't know much about the medical jargon being shouted back and forth, but he responded to the urgency in their tone. With one last nod of thanks to Bob and the deputies, Rossi jumped into the back with Morgan, hanging on for dear life as they careened back up the dirt road.