A/N: VCTF never disbanded, Rachel left for whatever reason, and the VCTF had many profilers that never stuck for long over the years. They finally got Sam back recently. It is her first day back.

A resounding shrill noise pierced the air, until a loud clump and a soft curse stopped it. John Grant slowly opened his eyes, peeking from underneath his pillow at the alarm clock he had just hit.

John moaned and burrowed his face into his pillow, wishing that the blaring red numbers would disappear and never come back. After five minutes, the alarm blared once more, once again coaxing a muttered curse from John as he slammed his hand down on the offending object.

"I guess it's time to get up." He muttered, lifting himself onto his elbows before turning onto his back and effectively wrapping himself up even more in the sheet that covered his fit body.

After a few minutes of trying to keep himself from being strangled by the white cotton, he extracted himself from the mess and placed his feet firmly on the carpeted ground. After rolling his neck and shoulders, and stood up and shuffled towards the bathroom, ready to prepare for the long day ahead of him.

"Nice of you to join us this fine morning, John." Bailey claimed in his deep voice as the younger agent joined the rest of VCTF members in the command center.

"Sorry, I got tied up." John muttered, placing his coat on the back of his chair as he took his usual seat near the top of the table.

"What was her name?" George asked innocently, causing some ripples of laughter from the other members as John made a face.

"Ha ha, George. So what do we got?" John asked, looking at his boss.

Bailey, trying to mask his amused smile, turned to John while pointing towards the large screen. Pictures of severely beaten women lying quite serenely in a various cemeteries filled the screen.

"We have a two year old case without any leads or suspects." Bailey griped, leaning back into his chair as he loosened his tie somewhat.

"Nothing?" John questioned, leaning forward as the team finally jumped right into the next case.

"Nope." George shook his head as he typed furiously on his laptop.

"Nada." Grace added, turning her curly haired, framed face towards John.

John sighed and asked Bailey without turning around, "Why do we get this case now? What's changed?"

"New murder," Bailey stated before turning to George, "Georgie."

"Right," the computer whiz started, typing nonstop into the computer, "This here is Elizabeth Wrightly. Her body was found in Meadow Lanes Cemetery last night, severely beaten and her right hand cut off."

"Meadow Lanes? Sounds like a retirement home to me." John claimed, earning a few smiles before Bailey started in.

"Elizabeth Wrightly is the seventh victim claimed by the Beautiful Brunette Killer." Bailey stated, throwing a newspaper into the center of the table.

Both George and John quickly reached for it, only to have Grace pluck it out of John's triumphant hands when he got it. Grace gave him a sweet smile as he protested, "Hey!"

"'The Beautiful Brunette Killer strikes again?'" she read causing John to laugh.

"Yeah, the writer of the article wanted to name him the Busty Brunette Killer but it didn't fly with the higher ups. Too bad."

Bailey smiled and said, "Yes, too bad."

John gave him a charming smile before sipping casually from the cup of coffee he had placed in front of him by a flirtatious F.B.I. Agent. John thanked her quietly, watching as she grinned and darted out of the command center, wriggling her butt for John to see. Bailey and Grace exchanged amused looks as George finally got his hands onto the newspaper.

"So he's the BBK?" he questioned incredulously.

John smirked as he placed his coffee back onto the table, "Sounds like something you order at Burger King."

"John…" Bailey warned, grinning nevertheless.

John pretended to be offended, "What? It does."

"Too bad it doesn't, this guy is real sick. Beating women into unrecognizable pulps, their faces were beaten so badly it was like playing with silly putty." Grace muttered as John grimaced.

"Thanks for the visual."

Grace gave him a look before replying sarcastically, "You're welcome John Michael Grant."

John stuck his tongue out, ignoring the look of disbelief on Bailey's face and George's amusement at his childish antics.

"Real mature," Grace muttered as she turned back towards the screen.

"Okay, here's what the victims looked like before they were," George cleared his throat as he glanced at the rest of the time, "Beaten into unrecognizable pulps."

George typed in a few things, and then paused as pictures of the deceased women came into view. John nodded his head appreciably; the women were stunning with long, brunette colored hair.

John whistled lowly, before turning to asks Bailey quietly, "Where's Sam?"

Bailey leaned forward slightly and shook his head, "She'll be in later, she had some personal business to take care of."

John looked up to meet Bailey's eyes, pursed his lips then gave him a curt nod as he shrugged. He turned in his seat to face the front and reviewed the case so far, "So we have seven victims who were beaten to death and had their right hands cut off over a two year period. Commonalitybeing beautiful, brunette and…?"

"Successful." A female voice finished for him from the entryway of the command center. The group turned to see Sam Waters standing at the top of the stairs.

"Hiya Sam." John greeted her, before giving her a large smile.

"Morning John, everyone." Sam greeted herself, before taking the last few steps into the command center and taking a seat next to John.

Everyone greeted Sam as well before turning towards the screen to study the pictures. John, who was sitting one seat behind Sam, leaned over her shoulder and asked softly, "Everything okay?"

Sam smiled and nodded, "Everything's great, John. Thank you."

John grinned and nodded, before leaning back into his own chair. Sam, by this time, was studying the pictures intently, her blonde hair swept over her slender shoulders. As usual, she clutched a pen in her hand, where she was clicking the top repeatedly as she thought and concentrated.

"Anything Sam?" Bailey asked from his seat, leaning forward in order to balance his large frame on his elbows as they came to rest on the polished, black table.

Sam cocked her head to the side and asked, "When did the killings start?"

George typed something into his computer and answered, "2006."

"So, two years ago?" she questioned as George nodded in the affirmative.

Everyone was quiet as Sam continued to study the screen, when she had a vision.

Many people milled about in a cemetery, paying their respects to their loved ones. Rain drizzles down on a relatively young man who is standing beside a coffin yet to be buried. He placed his right hand on the wooden crate, eyes cast downward.

"Sam?" Bailey called out, aware that she was thrown into a vision of hers.

Sam shook her head and stood up, walking towards the large screen to study the pictures up close. The team watched her curiously, all silent as she traced her hand over one of the many tombstones visible in the picture of the recently killed Elizabeth.

"Look at where the body was found, a cemetery," she started quietly, mostly asking herself when she said, "Now what do you do in a cemetery?"

John looked around before he offered, "Bury the deceased, mourn the dead?"

George snickered as he jested, "Deceased and dead is the same thing John."

John shot him a look as Bailey smiled warmly at his bantering team, Sam continued on nevertheless.

"Mourn the dead…the one you love. Our killer has lost a loved one and is killing people who remind him of her."

"That's not right…" John muttered, focused once again on Sam and the screen.

"Look at the position of the body, George can you bring up the crime photos of the other victims?" Sam asked, turning to face the computer whiz with a hand on her hip.

"Sure thing," he claimed, typing something into the computer until the six other pictures joined the most recent one.

"They look like they were just sleeping, he cares for them." She stated quietly, sweeping a lock of her blonde hair from out of her eyes.

"Or who they represent," Bailey added.

"Exactly." Sam confirmed, shooting Bailey a smile before turning back towards the large screen.

"So why beat them to death and cut their hands off if he cared about them?" John questioned, disbelieving of their newly assembled profile.

A well manicure hand flies through the air, striking something. The sound of skin on skin contact radiates through the air as the female's hand once again flies through the air and makes contact with an unknown human.

"Because whoever they represent, beat him."

Bailey nodded approvingly, "Good work Sam."