The previous part of The Lion and The Antelope.

***

INTERIM THREE

Adam Preatt wasn't a sociopath. Wasn't a psychopath. Wasn't mentally ill. Adam Preatt just liked to watch women suffer. Suffer and die.

No, Adam Preatt was a classic sadist. They led him into the interrogation room and the officer began to unchain his hands.

"Leave them on." Hotch ordered, after the Hardwick incident, he was taking no chances—especially with Emily in the room.

Preatt watched her, from the moment he realized there was a woman present. "Hello."

"Mr. Preatt, we're here because you agreed to answer some questions for us." Hotch said. He had eighteen case files spread before him, though he kept them closed.

He'd told Emily to stand, as far away from the table as possible. He'd give her a signal when she should sit down.

"Have nothing better to do with my time—now." His eyes hadn't left Emily but for a few seconds. They were gleaming, heated, empty. "What do you want to know?"

"There's not much we don't already have, Mr. Preatt." Emily said. "We've spoken to all of your relatives, previous co-workers, neighbors."

"So what can I do for you all today?" His hair was thinning and he showed the classic signs of someone who hadn't seen sunlight in several years. He wouldn't see it again, either.

"I have photos of all your victims, plus others that match your MO. I want to know where you first met them, and what made you choose them, and what you did with them." Hotch's voice remained cold, professional, as he spread out thirty-four photographs, some of the known victims, others of missing women who fit the profile. "I want the bodies, Preatt."

"You have all of my bodies." Preatt said, hands spread casually over the table, though the chains limited his movements. "All eighteen of them. Not one more, not one less. These others—albeit they'd be nice bodies—are not mine. Pity. I do like dark-haired women."

He ran a thumb over the first picture, a woman in her twenties with dark eyes and long dark hair. His eyes moved to the woman standing against the far wall. "A lot."

"What about blonde women?" Emily demanded, knowing that some of his victims were as blonde as JJ and Garcia.

"Blondes. They're ok. But they don't scream as loud as brunettes. At least in my experience." He turned toward Hotch. "Yours?"

Hotch wondered briefly if he was asking if Emily was his. "I want you to point out each of the women you killed."

"Her. She was my first." He pointed to a portrait of a laughing, green-eyed brunette. "Met her in a bar."

He turned toward Emily. Ran his eyes over her severe business suit, and straight dark hair. "Bet you're not the kind to take a man home from a bar, are you?"

"Why did you pick her?" Emily asked, getting to the heart of their visit. Every little detail they could collect could help them in determining his victimology. Victimology was unique to certain types of killers, and every bit of information they found could help them catch others.

It was the whole purpose behind the custodial interviews.

They waited while Preatt scanned the stack of photos, studying each face. Emily watched his face carefully, looking for nuances of remembrance, of puzzlement—of excitement. Each picture had a number on the back—big enough for her to see, one through thirty-four, and she made a mental of all the ones that seemed to excite him.

Her list matched that of the victims perfectly. He showed no emotion—or recognition of the other sixteen women.

This was not good.

"These." Preatt said, "Are mine. These others, close, but no cigar. What I wouldn't give for a good cigar right now. Pretty lady—think you can get me a cigar?"

"What about this woman? Or this one?" Hotch pointed to two of the remaining sixteen women.

"I've never seen them before." His voice didn't rise. "How do I even know they're dead? How do I know you're not trying to blame me for something that hasn't even happened yet? I'm not so sure I want to talk to you anymore. Her—I'll talk to her until they put me down, in how many years? Seven? But you. I don't like you at all."

"How did you choose these women then?" Emily asked softly, distracting him from Hotch. "These eighteen. What was it about them that caught your attention? Individually. Starting from the beginning."

"Their eyes. Their hair. The way the carried themselves." He began, angling his body toward Emily. "I'd have chosen you. If I'd seen you. I like women who are confident. Women who can take care of themselves. I like to show them differently."

"What about this woman?" Hotch asked, pointing the picture of the second victim. "How did you choose her specifically?"

"At the gas station in West Chicago." He began. "She had a cooler. And she couldn't lift it. I offered to help, she refused. She shouldn't have refused. A woman is supposed to like a man doing things for her. Do you like it when your man does things for you, pretty lady?"

"What about the next woman?" Emily asked, ignoring his question. "Where did you see her? Why her?"

"Grocery store. The carryout offered to help her. She refused. Laughed. Said she could handle it. Shouldn't have done that. Self-sufficient women are the downfall of this country, don't you agree, Agent Hotchner? Women are supposed to be soft, dependent. How soft is your pretty little partner?"

"What about this woman?" Emily asked, seeing Hotch's hand give the signal for her to move closer. She took the seat next to him, and began spreading the photographs out over the table.

She repeated the process with ten more women. Got similar answers for all. Gas stations, grocery stores, garden centers. Casual places that a woman would go every day. Go and not pay attention to the man who held the door, or offered to help her lift something into her trunk.

Easy. Vulnerable. Terrifying.

"What about this woman?" She asked in the same tone. This portrait was one of the sixteen women he'd claimed not to recognize. She'd mixed the portraits up as she'd spread them out over the table. Trying to catch him, trying to trick him.

He stared at the portrait a moment before looking up at her. "I didn't. She's not one of mine."

She tried circling back several times, but he always denied any connection to the sixteen women.

Finally the interview was over and the guard returned for Preatt. "Pretty lady, it has been one of the nineteen most pleasurable days of my life today. I thank you for that. My only regret is that I didn't meet you before moving to this lovely establishment. Good day. And good luck catching your killers."

Emily watched him being led out of the room and waited until the door shut behind him before releasing a shiver. "Yuck!"

Hotch smiled at her, "Emily, you did good with him."

"Thanks, I think, sir."

"Hotch." He said. "I thought we agreed you'd not sir me so much."

"Old habit." She sighed, reaching to help him gather the files. Their hands brushed softly and he didn't jerk away. Moved to cover her hand with his.

"You ok?" He asked, reading something in her sigh.

His hand was hot, the touch not something she was accustomed to. She shivered. He felt it, looked at her over the files.

"I'm, uh. Fine." Emily said, pulling her hand away. What the hell? He'd never touched her like that before. It was always professional with Aaron Hotchner. Until the night in the chapel when he'd spoken about them being friends. Maybe this was his attempt.

She forced herself to relax. Forced herself to smile at him in return. She didn't miss the way his dark eyes flared.

Warden Mitchell chose that moment to open the door, thundering in in a manner only a man that large could. He'd make twice of Hotch. "So did you find out what you needed to know? It's almost rec time, we need to get her out of here before then. They'll be out of their cells."

"Adam Preatt killed eighteen women." Hotch began as Emily loaded the last of the files into the bag. "But the person who killed sixteen others is still out there."

"Somewhere." Emily added.

She called JJ, under Hotch's orders, and told her to get her, Reid, and Morgan to Chicago as quickly as possible. That they had a case. Emily was never more glad for reinforcements in all of her life.

After hanging up the phone, she turned toward the man beside her in the warden's office. "JJ's got the jet fueling up as we speak. That woman moves fast."

"Good. We'll head to Roosevelt street. Check in with the Chicago Field Office. Then we'll get lunch." Hotch decided. He remembered a nice little Italian bistro near the Chicago Field Office. "Have you ever been to Spinelli's?"

"Oh. The best manicotti in four states." She breathed, remembering the restaurant from her Chicago field assignment days. "I've missed them."

"Excellent." He said, smiling. So she liked Italian—score one for him.

Take that, lily-giver Steven!

They decided to eat first. Emily was actually excited, even if her lunch partner was the reclusive Hotch. Spinelli's was one of her favorite places in the world. During the five years she'd lived in Chicago she'd eaten there at least twice a week. She told Hotch that as he held the door open for her.

Hotch laughed softly, glad he'd suggested it. He couldn't get over how her dark eyes sparkled over something so simple as a little Italian eatery two blocks from the field office.

She looked just like she had over that damned lily and Hotch felt a perverse thrill, knowing he'd put that look in her dark eyes.

He'd make a point to bring her back before they left Chicago.

They gave their orders and waited in awkward silence, until Hotch broke the unwritten rule. "You did really good in there today."

"You said so earlier." Emily reminded him.

"True. But you got further with him than I could." Hotch rested his elbows on the checkered tablecloth while they waited. "Something sounded off."

"I know. But I couldn't put my finger on it." Emily sighed, sipping her soda. "He might not have done it, Hotch, but he most likely knows who did."

"He knows something." Hotch agreed, as the food arrived. "What, I couldn't tell."

"So are we going to speak to him again?"

"First I want to get set up at the field office, get Morgan and the team here. Some of these women are from Indiana and Michigan. We'll have to split up and check with the locals in both those locations as well."

Emily paused a moment as her manicotti was placed in front of her. She breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of tomato and basil. "Oh, God. I have missed this. There is no place in Washington that ever could compare."

Hotch felt his stomach tighten at the look on her face. When the woman forgot she was with him she was elemental, enthusiastic, appreciative, tactile. Totally different from the reserved agent she portrayed when on the job.

It made him hungry. And not for the lasagna before him. His thoughts from the night before ran through his mind. Mad him wonder what she'd be like, what it would be like. Made him wonder what she'd be like in a more sensual arena than a simple eatery. Made him wonder what she'd be like in a darkened bedroom, with him to touch, taste, smell. Feel.

God. He wanted that.

INTERIM FOUR

The doors to the Chicago Field office opened automatically, allowing Emily to pass through them and into the world she'd lived in for eight years. The same carpet, the same desks—the same receptionist.

"SSA Prentiss!" The woman called. "My goodness, look at you!"

"Hello, Joanie. Look at you—how are the kids?"

"Graduated the last one this year. Off to Yale!"

"Good for him. We need to talk to the unit chief who handles serial crimes. Who would that be, I wonder?" Emily hugged the woman lightly, laughing ironically at her own question.

"Something's around here never change, sweetie. He's in the same office—I trust you know the way?" Joan said. "And before you leave, you and I will have coffee and you can fill me in on everything in DC, you hear?"

"We'll do that." Emily said before leading Hotch to the elevators. He'd not said anything, and she glanced at him. "Sorry about that. Joanie can be a bit chatty."

"That's fine. You'll probably know quite a lot of people here, won't you?" Hotch asked, pushing the button she'd indicated.

"A few, I worked here for five years. I'm sure a good majority of those people are still here. Unit Chief Michaels is a good guy. He'll be a lot of help." Emily said, as the elevator began to rise. It stopped on the next floor up and more people piled in, forcing Hotch to stand closer.

He could smell her shampoo. He loved her scent—the mix of strawberry and Emily that he'd first became aware of in a North Dakota barn.

Now it was all he could think about whenever he stood close enough to smell her.

The elevator stopped again, crowding the cart to the maximum. Hotch moved to stand behind her, freeing space for the crowd. He felt her bump up against him as she was crowded closer. Felt her hair brush against his cheek. He loved that she was only a half-head shorter than him, in her boots.

Emily was more than aware of his heat behind her, as the man in front of her crowded her even closer. The idiot was doing it on purpose, trying for a brush up and she wanted nothing more than to kick him.

Hotch knew what was going on, and any other time he'd have been furious. But as the man moved closer to Emily—she moved closer to him. Finally, he put one hand on her waist, and simply pulled her to his chest, flush against him.

Closer than she'd even been the night in the chapel. He heard her startled gasp, smiled to himself. Tightened his hand. Whispered in her ear. "You alright?"

"Yes. Crowded." Emily whispered back, trying in vain not to shiver at the feel of his breath against her ear.

What the hell was going on? Was he doing it deliberately?

Hotch was grateful for Emily knowing the unit chief. Explaining that they had a serial killer active in the area—that the Chicago office wasn't aware of, could have set off some territorial sparks. It didn't. SSA Michaels was a congenial, sixty-something man, friendly and well-liked by all the agents in his unit.

He'd given Emily a warm hug the instant she'd knocked on his office door. Listened as she'd explained what happened and what the BAU would need.

At nearly seven that evening, JJ and the rest of the team arrived. Michaels assigned two Chicago agents as liaisons with the Washington team, two agents that Emily was very familiar with.

And to Hotch's chagrin, they seemed very familiar with her. Tony Amecci and Phillip Coombs were men about his own age, and they'd each greeted Emily with enthusiastic hugs, which she'd returned almost too readily.

Dammit, why was it that he was just now noticing all the male attention she seemed to garner wherever they went? Had it always been like that, or had he just failed to notice?

Like he'd failed to notice how her eyes lit when she was happy? How her smile was wide when she was truly amused by something?

He'd decided several days ago, alone in a hotel room after his friend had been so severely injured, that he'd spend as much time as he could getting to know every nuance of the only team-member he'd not handpicked. That he'd make her see that they could be so much more than what they were.

JJ looked a bit green when she stepped into the lobby of the Chicago Field office, and Hotch suspected the morning sickness was hitting the young woman pretty hard. Emily must have assumed the same thing, she pulled a package of crackers from her purse and told the younger woman to eat them.

He liked watching how she seemed to seamlessly coddle everyone on the team—except him.

He'd like it if she brought him coffee and bagels in the morning. He'd sat in his office many a day and listened to the laughter coming from Dave's. Wished he could be a part of it, that easy camaraderie that developed between members of his team. But he'd been taught that a leader had to remain separate from those under him. Never get too close.

Just watch them form a family around him. Watch them try to include him. He could honestly say he was close to JJ, close to Reid. Relatively close to Morgan. And he and Dave had been friends for what seemed like half a lifetime. But he'd never made so much as a move toward being Emily's friend. And the profiler in him wondered about that.

Emily was extremely glad to see the rest of the team as they all headed to the hotel to get the room situation sorted out. Emily suspected she'd be moving into a room with JJ and letting Hotch have the suite, with Derek and Reid. It had two rooms and a pullout couch in the foyer. It just made sense.

She was wrong. The hotel only had one room available. A standard two bed two floors below the suite. Hotch assigned that room to Derek and Morgan, saying he'd take the pullout in the suite with the women.

Nobody argued. It was safer for the women to be in a suite. Still, it made Emily nervous to think that Hotch would be right outside her bedroom door, if she got up to go to the bathroom or the mini-fridge, she'd run the risk of waking him up.

It shouldn't matter, they'd all slept side by side on the plane dozens of times. Hell, she'd slept curled up against him in North Dakota. Had woken with her head pillowed on his chest, her leg twined with his.

And he'd been awake. Had stared down at her, that intensely cold Hotchner stare. She'd held her breath, waiting for him to say something. To remind her of her place, her standing on the team.

He hadn't, had just loosened his hold—his hands had been linked behind her back—and let her go. She'd hurriedly moved away, bumping into poor Reid in the process. He'd been asleep on her other side.

Hotch had said nothing about it, and she certainly hadn't mentioned it. She'd just chalked it up to shared body heat and moved on.

But, maybe he hadn't? Why hadn't he moved away from her? Instead he'd been holding her.

He'd been looking at her differently in the last few days, and the only thing she could think of was that night a week ago, and crying in his arms four days ago.

The most physical contact she'd had with Aaron Hotchner in the last year and a half and it all occurred within a week's time.

And the way he'd looked at her today, touched her hand. Actually covered hers with his own—that was something she'd never expected.

Wasn't sure she liked.

JJ drew her attention, sick in the suite's bathroom and she rushed in, just in time to hold the woman's blonde hair out of her face.

"I'm going to die." The younger woman moaned. "I'm going to die, Emily. And when I do—I want your promise that you'll kill Will for me. Promise me?"

"Kill Will? I don't know, wouldn't that be illegal? I would, you understand, but I've already been in one prison today—it wasn't exactly fun."

"Justifiable. Completely justifiable." JJ declared, not aware that Hotch had approached the bathroom door. And was listening to everything they said. That he'd smiled softly at their exchange.

"How about I call Derek and we'll send him on a Seven-up and chocolate pudding run?" Emily suggested, in a soothing tone. "And crackers."

"Lots of crackers. And some ice cream." JJ decided, letting the older woman lead her to her half of the suite. "Em, I don't know if I can do this."

"Of course you can, Jay." Emily maneuvered the younger woman around Hotch, who stood, unashamedly listening. "Let's just get you laying down, take a nap, you'll feel better when you wake up."

"Okay. Don't discuss the case without me."

"Don't worry, we'll wake you if we discover anything important. Sleep." Emily was firm as she led JJ to the bed Hotch had occupied the previous night.

Hotch waited until she returned from JJ's room before sinking down onto the couch. "She ok?"

"She will be. Morning sickness is hitting her pretty hard, at all times of the day."

"Hayley didn't get sick. Just a day or two. Poor JJ, flying probably isn't helping." Hotch said, thinking of the ramifications for the team, if they had to have fill-in media liaison. JJ was an integral part of the team, and the months she'd be off would be difficult.

"No, probably not." Emily said, sinking into a plush armchair near him. "What are we going to do tonight? I don't want to leave the room in case she needs something. Not if we don't have to."

"I'll call Amecci and…Agent Coombs. Have them meet us here and we can get started here. Call for pizza." Hotch decided. "And crackers, Seven-up, and what was it?"

"Chocolate pudding and ice cream, I believe." Emily's lips quirked at the list.

"I'll send Reid and Morgan on a pudding hunt. Is there anything you need?"

"Reese's peanut butter cups. Derek will know what to get. I've sent him hunting before." Emily said. They were her one weakness—besides straight dark chocolate.

"I'll get right on that."

"I'm going to take a bath, will you knock and let me know when every one gets here?" Emily stood.

"Of course." God, the thought of her in that tub was nearly his undoing. Did she realize how much she was torturing him, just by being near?

Somehow, he doubted she did.

Which made it all the worse. What he wouldn't give to lock the suite door and back her into her room. Back her up until her knees hit the edge of the bed. Until she was standing in front of him with nowhere to escape except on the mattress.

He'd pin her down, fist his hand in that hair. Use the other to hold both her hands above her head. Making her arch against him, vulnerable and delicate. His.

Instead, he forced himself to nod politely and pull out his cell phone to call Morgan and the Chicago agents. Forced himself to sit patiently while he heard the sounds of the tub being filled. Of her moving around.

Forced himself to knock on the bathroom door when the other men arrived. Forced himself not to react when she opened the door, dressed in faded sweats and a t-shirt, and a cloud of scented mist escaped the bathroom.

Dammit. He didn't know if he could do this.

What the hell was he becoming that he couldn't spend one evening within fifteen feet of her without turning into some damned caveman, ready to back her against the wall?

She was his colleague, his subordinate, for God's sake!

He never would have imagined having these feelings for her—these feelings for someone other than Hayley. Ever.

But here they were. And if anything, Aaron Hotchner made it a point to always know exactly what he wanted. And to get it.

He'd get her. He just had to be patient. Patient.

INTERIM FIVE

Napoleon Hill said:

Your ability to use the principle of autosuggestion will depend, very largely, upon your capacity to concentrate upon a given desire until that desire becomes a burning obsession.

Patience had always come easy to Aaron Hotchner, but tonight his patience was more than wearing thin.

Emily had taken every excuse to avoid him and he'd gotten the impression it was a more than deliberate act on her part. She was acting nervous in manner, and it increased whenever he got within a few feet of her. While he was glad she was aware of him, it made it damned difficult for him to get close to her. A vicious conundrum for him.

"So what do we know so far?" Morgan asked, from his position on the couch beside Emily. She'd deliberately sat between him and one of the Chicagoan agents, making it impossible for Hotch to sit beside her. "What convinced you guys that Preatt was telling the truth?"

"Consistency." Emily explained; she tapped her pen against her knee as she spoke, an unconscious beat. "We tried several times to trip him up and he remained firm. Even when his guard was down."

"Over and over, in any questions," Hotch added. "He was insistent he only killed eighteen women."

"And you believed this guy?" Amecci asked, his face and tone clearly skeptical. "Why."

"Experience." Hotch said. "His manner, his tells. All indicated his level of truthfulness. Plus, he never slipped. Not once."

"So what do we do now?" Coombs asked. He was the quieter of the two field agents, and he rarely spoke. He'd been one of Emily's first partners in Chicago, and they'd grown extremely close. "To find these other sixteen women?"

"Study the patterns." Reid began, excitedly. "Study any details to determine where they were taken from, determine how they were chosen. This will lead to correlations with other behaviors that could narrow a list of who'd have access and who'd have the desire."

"Look, kiddo, I know this is what you do, but I am not so sure. I mean, this last woman went missing four years ago. How are you supposed to find her?" Coombs asked, looking at Emily sitting beside him and using the nickname he'd given her the first week she'd worked with him. He was ten years older, and the name had stuck.

"Trust me, Phillip. We do know what we're doing." Emily smiled at the red-headed man. "We can't offer any guarantees, of course. But we can help."

"No offense, Em-ee -lee," Tony drawled, "But I'd prefer we do this the old-fashioned way."

"Guns drawn, and fists ready?" Emily asked, drily. She'd worked with Tony Amecci nearly as frequently as Coombs. She was very familiar with his style. "Sometimes, it doesn't always work that way. Remember Denver?"

Coombs snorted, drawing everyone's attention. "She's got you there."

"Can we get back on track, here, please?" Hotch said, eying both Chicagoan agents. He hated that they had a shared history with Emily—even had individual nicknames for her—that he knew nothing about. Had a past with her that included laughter and memories.

He had a history of cold aloofness, of suspicion and mistrust. Was it any wonder she was more open with these two men in the hour they'd been in the suite than she'd been with him in a year and a half?

Hotch didn't know what to think of his new obsession with SSA Emily Prentiss. He'd never been attracted to dark haired women. The girl he'd dated before Hayley had been a blue-eyed blonde who'd resembled JJ considerably. Yet here he sat, aware of every breath the brunette took.

Suddenly. It had hit him so suddenly while holding her close in a small hospital chapel that there was just something about her that he couldn't forget, that chased all thoughts—all memories—of Hayley out of his mind. Out of his dreams. It had hit him so suddenly he didn't know what to think at times.

How to act. How not to re -act.

But one thing he couldn't do was go back to being that same cold bastard who shut her out on a daily basis.

It was only after Hayley had left that he'd realized he'd retreated so far behind a cold façade that people had had no way to reach him. Only Jack seemed able to even elicit a smile, anymore.

His team couldn't get close to him, his wife hadn't been close to him, his brother wasn't close to him—and it was all his fault.

When Gideon had lost his Sara and retired, Hotch had realized exactly what he was doing to the people around him. But ironically, as he'd had his epiphany, Hayley'd had one of her own. She'd left and taken Jack with her.

When the divorce papers had arrived, he'd realized it was too late for him and Hayley—but not him and his other family. Jack, Sean, and the team were all that mattered to him. And he'd made a concerted effort to open up to them. With JJ, Reid, even Morgan. With Dave, there had been no hesitation.

But he'd always seemed to overlook Emily. Now he was feeling that oversight, deeply. How did he make it up to her? While still convincing her that the possibility existed for something more?

He'd not had to entice a woman for twenty years. Had never had to play the game, and wasn't even sure where to start. If he should start.

If she'd want him to start. If he could keep himself from starting.

His dreams were starting to intrude on his daily life. He'd look at her across the conference table and would think of nothing but picking her up and setting her on it, moving between her legs and leaning down, kissing her hard—until she was focused on him and only him, and not the files spread between them.

How was he supposed to work with her when that was all he could think about?

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Hotch finally called it for the night, nearing on midnight. JJ had awakened, long enough to meet and greet the two Chicagoans. And to get re-acquainted with the god of morning sickness. Emily'd once more sent her to bed, with a package of crackers and Reese's chocolate.

The Chicagoan field agents lingered, speaking with Emily softly as Reid and Morgan headed down to their own room. Hotch struggled not to listen too obviously.

Her laughter rang out through the suite, and Hotch struggled not to look up as he reorganized the files spread over the coffee table. The younger agent said something Hotch couldn't quite catch, in a low voice filled with flirtatious laughter. He was rapidly getting on Hotch's bad side. Calling her Em -ee -lee, and touching her shoulder, her back. Kissing her on the cheek as Hotch watched him and his partner leave.

"You know them pretty well." Hotch said, as Emily closed the door behind the two men. "Coombs and Amecci."

"We were a team for nearly three years, Hotch." She said, moving to help him with the case files. "I can tell you pretty much anything about them. Why?"

"They just seemed comfortable with you." Touching you. "I wondered, that's all."

"Why?" Emily asked bluntly. "They're both unbelievably good at their jobs. If anyone can help us find this guy after all this time it'll be Tony and Phil."

"You're not that comfortable with the members of our team. Not like that." Hotch said, watching her face for a reaction. He got one, but it was so small he wasn't sure how to interpret it. "Not with me."

"Hotch—don't take this the wrong way, but you've not made it easy for me to get comfortable with you. And Reid—well, we all know he's had a few problems in the last few months. JJ and I are good friends, Garcia, too. Morgan and Dave, I'd say I was comfortable with both of them. Why?" Emily always pulled fewer punches the later at night it was. When she was tired, she censored her words far less. "What does it matter? I'm here to do a job and nothing more. Phil and Tony and I are all professionals, who happen to be good friends. But we know our jobs."

"I never said you didn't."

"No. You didn't." She sighed. "There's something different about you lately, Hotch. I'm not sure what, but it's disconcerting."

"I apologize, I think." His tone was rueful. How could he expect her to understand what was happening with him—when he didn't understand it himself. "We've had one hell of a last month and it's made me realize a few things."

"Yes?" Emily was wary and her face showed it. "Like what?"

"I've gotten so wrapped up in running the unit, I've forgotten about the people in it. Can I ask you something? How long has JJ been seeing Detective La Montaigne?"

"Almost a year." Emily's eyes widened as she opened the fridge and pulled out a soda. Handed him one before opening one for herself. "Wait! Are you telling me you didn't know? You're kidding me!"

"No. I didn't know. Until he showed up in New York."

"Wow." Emily repeated one of JJ's favorite expressions of disbelief unconsciously, a by-product of spending so much time with the younger woman. "So you probably don't know about Garcia and…"

She trailed off, not sure she should tell him of her friend's fraternization.

"Lynch? No, I didn't know until Dave told me about the man-to-man discussion they had."

"Ok, none of us knew until then. But JJ and Will—that's been going on since they met. You didn't know she'd fly to Louisiana every weekend she could? She tried so hard to hide it. But we all guessed—even Reid."

"I've been a little unobservant. Which is never a good thing for a profiler, right?" Hotch laughed depreciatively.

"Bad year. We all have them." Emily offered, shrugging nervously, uncertain of what she could say to her superior. "We, uh, all knew things weren't going easy for you, Hotch. We didn't want to put any unnecessary worry on your shoulders."

"Yes. How much of that worry did others shoulder for me? I know you helped Reid immensely, Emily. And when Penelope was recovering—I know it was you who stayed with her at night after Morgan left." Hotch moved to stand beside her, in front of the hotel's large window. It looked out over the Chicago skyline and was a beautiful sight. "I know you made sure Dave ate breakfast on a regular basis. Made sure he knew he wasn't completely alone in that office."

"Like you were." Emily added, softly. Reading the expression in his eyes. "I'd have offered the same, Hotch. But I didn't think it would have been welcomed."

"It probably wouldn't have." Hotch admitted, honestly. "I wanted nothing to do with anyone. Just Jack. But now, I'd kind of like the company."

"What's changed?" Emily asked, abruptly. She took a step away from him. "Is it because of what happened in New York with Dave?"

"Partially. A lot of other things." Hotch said, moving closer unconsciously. "I signed the divorce papers, uncontested, the way Hayley wanted. I saw JJ with la Montaigne and realized that the lives of the people I cared about were changing, and I was too wrapped up in other things to notice. I made a decision to not just lead the team, but to be a part of it, as well."

"You've always been a part of the team." Emily protested, moving slightly closer then retreating as she realized what she'd done. "More so than anyone else. Didn't you pick Reid, Morgan, and JJ for the team yourself?"

"Yes. I did." He once more followed her step without thought. Until she was leaning against the bar slightly and he was close enough to smell her hair. "I want to apologize for how I've treated you over the last year and a half. I was distrustful and I haven't acknowledged your contributions."

"I don't need acknowledgment." Emily said, softly but firmly, well aware that he'd somehow boxed her in between him and the counter. "Like I told you at the hospital. You respect me professionally, and that is all I need."

"Is it?" Hotch asked, idly. He was warm as he crowded in just a little past propriety, as his hand came up to cup her elbow. "I do, you know. And I do appreciate all the things you do—both in the cases, and within the team. You take care of everybody and I doubt we've even noticed. Says something for a bunch of profilers, doesn't it?"

"I like to take of everybody, as you put it. The team is my family, too." She moved slightly, slipping out of the small trap he'd had her in.

"They, Jack, and my brother, are all I've got." Hotch admitted, copying her movement almost imperceptibly. "You, too. I wanted to make sure you knew that."

JJ watched the couple from her position outside her bedroom door. They spoke too low for her ears to pick up, but she watched as they did an eerie kind of dance around the kitchen. Emily would move, and Hotch would follow. And he was close. Closer than JJ could ever remember seeing him with anyone, especially Emily. It made her think of some sort of dance between two partners who just weren't quite sure of the other.

She watched for a moment more, before returning to her room, just to ask herself, what if Hotch really was Emily's Mr. Right?

Wow.

INTERIM SIX

Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself. Do not lose courage in considering your own imperfections, but instantly set about remedying them - every day begin the task anew.
Saint Francis de Sales

Sixteen women, Hotch thought, as he posted the final portrait on the bulletin board. Had no one really looked close enough at their disappearances to realize they weren't Preatt's kills?

Hotch stepped back and stared at the collection of 8 x 10s, trying to ascertain just what it was about them that had caught the UNSUB's eye.

Young—early to mid thirties, his mind cataloged, attractive, dark eyed. Dark haired, for the most part. Thirteen of the sixteen women had hair on the darker end of the spectrum.

Preatt had also favored brunettes, though he'd had several blonde victims as well. It was one of the reasons hair color wasn't considered part of the typology.

But now it was one of the few things they had to go on. The final victim bothered Hotch the most. Terri Ann Souter had been a corrections officer with the same penitentiary that housed Preatt. And she looked enough like Emily to be her sister. Large dark eyes, just a shade lighter than Emily's, sparkled above a wide grin. The hair was parted in a way he'd often seen Emily wear hers, and it was curled. He loved it when Emily curled her hair, but seeing that picture bothered him on an intrinsic level.

Someone was probably missing this woman, and Hotch was determined to find out just exactly what had happened to her, and the others. He heard the sounds of the team and the local agents as they filled the conference room at the Chicago office. He smelled coffee and strawberries at his elbow and he looked to his left, seeing Emily holding a cup out to him.

"You were gone when we woke up, so I thought you might need this." She didn't smile, her voice was low, "See anything that stands out?"

"Thank you." He took the coffee, pleased by the gesture. She'd never done it before and he was surprised at the thrill of warmth that rushed through him at the knowledge that she'd thought about him that morning. "Victim typology. Predominately, brown and brown."

"Lovely." Emily said, mouth twisting as she caught the obvious connection. "Anything else?"

"Not yet." Hotch admitted, "I want a detailed victimology profile today—then we'll split into teams. One team to Indianapolis, one to Detroit."

"Where the women disappeared from. You think there's bodies somewhere, don't you?" Emily asked, as they moved to sit around the large conference table. Hotch made doubly sure to be on her right side. JJ took her left. As the remaining team members—plus two—settled in around the table, he thought about how he was going to separate the team. JJ would need to stay in Chicago, close to the field office.

Protocol demanded she not be in the field during her pregnancy. Traveling to the field offices was allowed, but any other field work was prohibited. So JJ would have to stay behind. He could leave Emily with her, but with her fitting the victimology, he would feel better knowing Emily was within his sight at all times.

So that left Reid or Morgan—and he needed Morgan in the field. He was really feeling the hole that Rossi had left.

He sipped the coffee, finding it exactly how he liked it. Thank God for other profilers. She'd known he'd liked strong, dark coffee—just like he knew she liked hers with a touch of chocolate. The woman wasn't lying when she told Reid she loved chocolate—she really loved chocolate.

He'd add that to the list of things he knew about her: she liked Vonnegut, cats, lilies, Italian, and chocolate. And to fuss over people—and this morning she'd chosen him to fuss over. It was…nice. He knew he could get used to it.

It was a peace offering. That's why Emily'd brought him coffee. If he was attempting to develop a friendship with her, she'd let him. The man was obviously feeling lonely and adrift after the last year, and when she'd thought about it after she'd retreated to her room, her heart had practically broke for him. He'd lost in one way or form too many people—or nearly lost them—for one man to reasonably be able to handle.

That had to be the reason for his abrupt character shift where she was concerned. At least, that's the conclusions Emily had come to around three a.m.

So if he wanted to be friends, she'd be ok with that.

Everyone was subdued as Hotch moved to stand near the bulletin board and just behind Emily's chair. She turned slightly so she could see the man dressed in a regulation blue suit, inexplicably aware of him.

Surely someone was bound to notice how he'd started to be everywhere she turned—the team was nothing if not perceptive. Someone surely had caught on to his change in behavior—or was she just imagining it?

She listened to his words before adding, "We need to know everything about the last few days before each of these women went missing. We're going to have to start completely at the beginning—and then see if there is any tie to Preatt."

"Exactly. First I want a general victimology and a rough profile. Then Morgan, you and Agents Amecci and Coombs will go to Detroit in the morning. The largest number of victims were from the Indianapolis area, Prentiss and I will be taking those tomorrow, as well." He paused a moment, rested his hand on the back of Emily's chair. "JJ, you and Reid will stay here—Reid, I want you to detail everything you can, and interview the families of the Chicago victims. Agent Coombs, can you and Agent Amecci coordinate with both Detroit and Indianapolis today? Make all arrangements and follow up on any disappearances since Terri Souter went missing? JJ, I want you to contact Garcia and find out everything that can be found out on all sixteen of these women. Then I want you on the phone making appointments for the five women from this area. Morgan, you, Prentiss, and I will be going over every case file on these women and any files that might be similar for Illinois, Missouri, and Kentucky."

"Yes, sir." Morgan and Emily both said, automatically. Emily tried not to think about the fact that he'd paired her off with him yet again.

Why?

Emily was exhausted, and it wasn't even one o'clock. But they had a profile—or at least a beginning one.

They were simply looking for a man in his late thirties or early forties, with paranoid personality disorder. Who had ties to Detroit, Indianapolis, and Chicago. He was most likely white and had never been married, or was long divorced.

Three hours of work and that's all they'd been able to narrow down—on the UNSUB.

The victims were a completely different story. They'd found that all were taller than average, all were reasonably attractive, all were employed in a wide range of fields, and were successful at their chosen occupations. All were childless—and none were married, although they were all said to have been dating or living with someone.

It was a start.

They'd hopefully find out more once they'd spoken to the local authorities in Detroit and Indianapolis, and once they finished interviewing the victims' families—they'd have a clear and accurate picture of just who these women were—and maybe a good insight why the UNSUB had chosen them.

And then they'd go from there.

The only hitch in her equilibrium—Hotch would be the one beside her while she interviewed. He'd always made her feel like she was on edge, constantly being evaluated. Was it because he was a profiler to the core? Or was it her?

Questions she'd asked herself a hundred times.

And she still had no answers.

Add in the way things had changed between them since New York, and was it any wonder she was confused—almost longing for her pre-BAU days when she'd flown a desk job in this very building? Her old office was one hundred fifteen feet down the hall, occupied by a man with male-pattern baldness and a lisp. She almost longed for its comfort and solitude.

Hotch had been right, the night before. She had been extremely close to her team, her agents. And it had been her team. She'd been the supervisory agent. Had made the decisions. Had worked hard for that position. When her transfer to the BAU had been approved she'd been more than excited. She'd worked her entire career for that opportunity.

Once there—she'd found Hotch.

It had taken all her fortitude not to apply for another transfer. But she'd stuck it out, proved to all around that she'd earned her position in the field, in the BAU. But she'd always wondered if she'd proven herself to him.

Always felt like she was striving to make him see that she was good at her job. Had earned her place by his side.

Just like she'd earned her place on SSA Unit Chief Michaels' floor five years ago. And then worked herself up to a team of her own. And she'd chosen to sacrifice that autonomy, that position, to work under the legendary Aaron Hotchner and Jason Gideon.

And it hadn't been easy.

Nothing about Aaron Hotchner was ever easy.

Understanding him certainly wasn't. And for a woman who prided herself solely by her skills at her job—it was nothing but frustrating.

And she hated that he was distracting her from that job.

Dammit. What the hell was he up to?

The entire team decided that Spinelli's was the place to eat, so Emily found herself once again inhaling the beautiful scent of tomato and basil and parmesan. And crammed into a booth against Hotch's side. You couldn't get a hair between them, and the warm smell of his aftershave competed with that of the Italian eatery.

Since when had she become so aware of Hotch? Alternate universe was the only explanation.

She once again ordered the manicotti, ignoring Phil and Tony's laughing comments about some things never changing. She loved it, and only got Spinelli's on rare occasions.

"So you ate here a lot, huh?" Derek asked. "To think, we probably saw each other in here."

"This place is great." JJ said, enthusiastically, eying her spaghetti and the accompanying garlic bread. "I so love this!"

"I know, isn't it wonderful?" Emily asked rhetorically. "This is probably the one thing I miss the most about Chicago."

"You don't miss having the opportunity to order us around?" Tony asked.

"Having to cover your ass, you mean?" She retorted. Tony Amecci was, at times, an extremely reckless agent. But he'd always gotten the job done. "You caused me more trouble than any other agent on the team."

"I did so try." He said, grinning. "But you did your job so well!"

"And she's probably the reason you still have a job. Now let the woman eat." Phillip said. They'd both started out as her team mates, but when she'd gotten an assignment of her own, they'd asked to transfer to her team. It had really touched her, the faith they'd had in her leadership skills—considering they both had more experience than she had.

"What am I missing?" Reid asked, "Why is Emily the reason?"

"Because, as team leader, she had to make all the excuses for Amecci. I'm still not sure how she pulled it off." Phillip said.

"Emily was your boss?" Derek asked, looking at his colleague and the two Chicagoans. "Why didn't we know this?"

"It wasn't relevant to my position within the BAU, was it?" Taking the position in Washington had technically been a lateral move or a step down. But she'd really wanted Behavioral Analysis. "I was Agent in Charge for three years before transferring to Washington. I had six agents on my team—including these two clowns."

"I thought you rode a desk." JJ said.

"Technically, my position was considered a desk job."

"She was always in the field with the rest of us." Tony said. "And it was wonderful. Especially Houston."

"Not with Houston, again." Emily sighed, theatrically. It hadn't been one of her finer moments—and she knew Michaels hadn't put it in her files for transfer. She doubted Hotch—or Strauss—knew about it.

"What about Houston?" Derek asked, intrigued by the insight into a woman who played things close to her chest.

"I remember it quite fondly." Tony said, grinning suggestively. "There is nothing like seeing your supervisor dressed like a hooker, calling out obscenities to another hooker on the corner—in Spanish."

Emily choked on her soda. "Tony! There was much more to Houston than that!"

"Ah, but that's the only part he can remember." Phil said, from Emily's other side. "Of course, he got to be the customer."

"What exactly were you all doing?" JJ asked, a wary—yet amused—look on her face. "Or do I really want to know?"

"We had a human trafficking case that led us to Houston. We needed someone who could blend in with the population in a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood. The only other women on our team were a blonde and a redhead. And neither one spoke a lick of Spanish." Phil explained. "So Emily went in, Tony—also fluent in Spanish—went as well. I got stuck in a van listening to the entire conversation, my Spanish was passable so I knew what was being said. It was enlightening—I, uh, didn't know Emily knew those terms, let alone how to use them in proper context. The rest of our team was out in different vehicles watching for our UNSUBS."

"So what happened?" Reid asked, enthusiastically, mentally filing the image of Emily in a hooker costume away in his head, right beside the one of her in a tiny red bikini. He might be a genius—but he was also a male. "With the case?"

"Case was a complete and total bust." Tony said, snickering loudly. "We'd misjudged, and were on the wrong corner. But a pimp took a liking to Emily, and told her if she wanted to work that corner—she'd have to pay her dues first. With him. And the son of a bitch was a three hundred pound ex-wrestler who stood six-foot-five."

"I'd almost forgotten that lovely little episode." Emily's tone was dry, as she shook her head ruefully. "Some things just can't remain our little secrets, can they?"

"Nope." Tony snickered. "Anyway, the SOB manages to get Emily into his pimpin' van—I think he picked her up one-handed—before Phil and Stamios could get to her."

"All because you weren't where you were supposed to be." Phil reminded him. "You were supposed to have her back. We were two blocks away. Where we were told to be."

"Hey, the damned car wouldn't start. Who was it that requisitioned a 1986 Buick for my pimpin' ride?" Tony demanded. "And didn't make sure the thing was mechanically sound?"

"You did." Phillip answered. "Still, it made for one hell of an interesting twenty-five minute car chase."

"Tell me about it." Emily said, remembering how she had felt in the man's Ford EconoVan. She'd landed on his porn collection when he'd thrown her into the back. It had been well-used and had the biological residue to prove it.

"Obviously, you caught up to them." Derek said. "What happened?"

"Caught up to them? Didn't happen." Phil laughed outright then, before continuing the story. "No. Superwoman here was attempting to overpower the idiot while the car is in motion. And we didn't know it. We're hot on the guy's tail. Me in this big, ugly, early model SUV. Tasia in an old El Camino that was on its last legs, Bellows two cars behind her in, of all things, an Ice Cream truck. Marks was actually on an old Harley, in the stalled lanes. And finally, Tony in an old baby blue Buick—that he'd finally gotten started. Damned if they didn't lead us on this ass-backward route all through downtown Houston."

"Emily pulls the van to a stop right in front of the Houston field office's doors. Hops out and starts berating us for our sloppy driving skills. Said we could have killed somebody." Tony said. "You should have seen the Houston SSA in Charge's face when he realized ,that of all of us—dressed appropriately for an evening on the streets—mind you, the agent in charge of the mess on his front steps was the woman dressed in this very tiny, very red hooker dress! They'd known we were running sting in the area, but didn't know exactly who was involved."

"It was funny to you guys—but I heard it from Michaels for months after that." Emily said. "Thought I would never live it down."

"But you did?" Reid asked.

"She did." Phil said, ruffling her hair. "She was one of the best damned SSAICs I'd ever seen. It was a shame she transferred out. It was a real privilege to work under your command."

"Thanks." Emily leaned her head on his shoulder, more affectionate than her Washington colleagues could ever remember seeing her. "I loved every minute of it—almost."

"You know, Michaels' is always saying he'd love to get you back…if the BAU doesn't work out for you…" Tony said, inelegantly, letting his voice trail. He'd not missed the way she seemed to have changed from the confident, bright, energetic woman who'd had his back on more than one occasion to someone who was nervous and on edge—even though her outer shell didn't show it.

"Thanks, Tony. But I'm happy to stay right where I am." Emily told him, seriously. She'd always wanted the BAU—and now that she'd gotten it, she wasn't looking back.

"And we're more than happy to have her." Hotch said, flatly, coldly.

Emily jerked slightly when she felt his warm hand cover hers under the table.

Tony's brows rose at the man's unspoken threat. "Ok. I'm just sayin…"

INTERIM SEVEN

Virginia Woolf wrote:

Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I to my friends.

Derek watched Emily when she wasn't looking. Watched how she interacted with the two Chicago agents, saw the respect in their eyes when they looked at her. Respect she'd most likely earned. The Bureau had its own hierarchy, and as a young woman moving into a position of authority, it had probably been one hell of a struggle for her. But she'd apparently more than succeeded.

And she'd given it up to work the BAU. He didn't know if he'd have made the same decision, but he was sure as hell glad she had. She filled the hole Elle had left in ways he'd never imagined. She was the perfect piece of their particular puzzle, and she was one of his closest friends. Her and Garcia.

And he both hated and was amused by her sudden skittishness. It had taken him a while to figure out the cause of it, but once he had, it secretly amused him.

What were the odds?

Derek sat back in his seat while the remaining members of the table finished their meals, just watching his two dark-eyed colleagues. Hotch moved his arm behind her back, making more room on the crowded red bench seat. They were plastered together, no space between them, yet Emily held herself slightly stiff. She kept darting glances toward the supervisor, quick, furtive looks that were the only betrayals of her anxiety.

What had Hotch done to set her on edge?

Derek checked out the older man's face, watching the way his eyes would stray to the woman beside him—when she wasn't looking.

Damn, Derek would never have believed it, but he was seeing it with his own two eyes. Hotch was panting after Prentiss. Emily Prentiss was finally an antelope, and the one unexpected lion—the one whom he'd never would have suspected—was Hotch. For a man who Derek thought would never get over his ex-wife, this was a minor miracle.

And one he completely understood. Derek knew Hotch was the type of man who had to be with a woman in order to experience any of the softer side of things. Had to be with a woman to forget, just for a little bit, the horrors of the job. Hotch probably identified himself as part of a whole—just like he identified himself with being part of the BAU team; with his ex-wife—the high and mighty Hayley—out of the picture, it did make sense for the man to look for another woman in the very arena where he spent most of his time.

In Derek's opinion, Prentiss was a hell of a better choice for a man like Hotch than Hayley had been. Hell, if Derek could ever see himself settling down with one woman, one of the first—if not the first—one he'd look at would be Emily. Why not? Emily—she was smart, funny, and sexy as hell when she let herself go. And he knew from personal experience—a Virginia Beach view he'd never forget—she had one dynamite body under those prim clothes. And was the kind of woman a man didn't mess with unless he was serious.

Morgan hoped Hotch knew that. He'd hate to see Emily—or Hotch—hurt. Not to mention what it would do to the team.

Still, it would be interesting to watch over the next few weeks.

Emily turned at the knock on her door, "Hey JJ, you ok?"

"You have a minute?" The blonde didn't wait for an answer, coming full into the room, but leaving the door open. She sank onto the bed next to Emily's knees, her purple pajamas clashing with the orange of the hotel comforter.

"Of course, what's up?" Emily set aside the book Steven had given her, and turning toward the younger woman slightly. "Something wrong?"

"Why'd you do it? Leave Chicago?"

"To come to the BAU? I'd always wanted BAU, Jay, from the beginning. When the position opened I put in for it." Emily said, frankly.

"So was it worth it? They love you here, it's more than obvious. You've got a lot of friends here." JJ's words were low and Emily struggled to pin down what was really bothering the younger woman.

"My life here was good, Jay. I worked hard from the first day at the academy and my first here. My team here was more than my family. I was happy here, and respected. But being a team leader was more political than anything, and I hated that. I had to work doubly hard in the office in order to be beside my people in the field. And I belonged in the field. And there is nothing I hate more than politics. Nothing."

"But it was a demotion." JJ said, skeptically. "Coming here."

"Not really. The BAU assignment is a highly coveted assignment."

"But you're happy here, right? I mean, Washington's not like this office. People here are more relaxed, and they apparently think the world of you."

"Compared to my lukewarm reception when I came to the BAU, you mean?" Emily laughed softly, remembering how she'd sat waiting in Hotchner's office for the team to return.

"Something like that?" JJ's face clouded. "You'd not go back, would you? If what he'd said at dinner was true? You'd not leave the BAU?"

"Of course not! Chicago was my place for a while—when I needed it. But I am happy in Washington, JJ. Truly happy. I do miss Tony, and Phil, and some of the others, very much. But I have you and Penelope—even Derek. It's good."

"So you'd not want to go back to Chicago?" JJ asked again, seeking reassurance.

"Will won't want to go back to New Orleans, JJ. He loves and cares about you a lot." Emily said, understanding what was behind JJ's questions. "Are you having doubts?"

"About him, about my feelings, about the baby—no, not really. About how happy he'll be away from his friends, everything he's ever known? Big time."

"What's he said?" Emily asked. La Montaigne had seemed totally committed to JJ whenever she'd seen them together. Was JJ suddenly being ruled by her hormones?

"I haven't really asked him." JJ admitted, "I mean, we know when we sign on to the bureau we will be transferred if needed, right? Well, Will spent his whole life in Louisiana, he never planned on moving—especially to Washington."

"And you're wondering if you deserve having someone do that for you." Emily nailed it on the head. "He loves you, JJ. You're very lucky."

"I know. But can he stay happy? With me gone all the time, a baby, no friends or family nearby? The BAU isn't exactly conducive to marriage, Em. I mean just look at Gideon, at Rossi, hell, even Hotch."

"True. But JJ, we really don't know exactly what happened within their marriages—any of them." Emily pointed out. "I think if you both work hard at it, there is no reason why either of you should be unhappy."

"So you've never regretted it? Leaving Chicago and going to Washington?"

"Only when I was plotting to deep fry Hotch in a vat of olive oil to thaw him out." Emily snickered. "I found enough oil for a man his size—but not a pot big enough! I had a lot of regrets then!"

"Oh, god, you're awful!" JJ sputtered, as the image of Hotch sitting in an old pot on a stove—with an extremely severe look on his coldly handsome face—popped into her mind.

"Ok, now," Emily said once they'd caught their breath. "You and Will are going to be ok. And I'm going to watch my movie—you're more than welcome to join me."

"Which one?" JJ asked.

"Miss Congeniality, of course. It's full of inaccuracies, but you got to love how she kicks ass." Emily laughed. "Remember, all you have to do is SING!"

"Solar plexus, instep, nose, and groin!" They said together, having watched the movie on more than one occasion. They laughed for a few moments.

"I'm in." JJ said, stretching out over the bed as Emily booted up her laptop.

The older woman was a closet Netflix addict, and only JJ knew her secret.

Hotch's hands were laced behind his head as he lay staring up at the ceiling, thinking.

She'd wanted to fry him in oil. And he wasn't so sure he could blame her.

He'd been on his way to the restroom to clean up for the night when he'd heard JJ go into Emily's room. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop but the younger woman had had an unsettled look on her pretty face as she'd passed him, and he'd been concerned.

On one hand, what he'd heard about Emily's feelings for the BAU reassured him—he was glad she had gotten what she'd wanted, and was happy with her decision. On the other, the whole conversation had reiterated that the one person responsible for any trouble she'd had feeling comfortable with the team—was him.

It didn't make his campaign any easier.

Poor JJ—she was a worry, too. He hated that the girl was feeling so insecure, although he knew a good deal of it was the hormones racing through her body. And the changes her life was rapidly undergoing.

But she had Emily, who'd apparently understood exactly what was going on with her tonight. He was glad that the rest of the team felt secure enough to know they could go to Emily if they had a problem.

Unlike him.

He didn't hear her leave her bedroom, but when the light in the bathroom flickered on he turned toward her room. When she came back out, he watched her for a moment as she moved soundlessly to the kitchenette.

"Emily?" His voice was low, not wanting to frighten her. "You ok?"

"God! Hotch! You startled me. I thought you were asleep." Emily stuttered out.

"No, I'm having a hard time shutting my mind down." He admitted, rising from his bed. "You?"

"Insomnia. Chocolate craving. The usual. Plus, JJ fell asleep in my bed, and she's taking up the middle." Her words were rueful. The blonde hadn't even lasted half the movie.

"Oh. Is she, uh, ok, now?" Hotch asked, "I heard her talking, earlier."

"I think she was just feeling a little blue." Emily said, smiling softly. "Everything is worrying her, right now."

"She's lucky." Hotch said, moving to stand beside her at the window, in much the same manner as they had last night. The Chicago skyline was beautiful, even with the thunderclouds that were rolling in.

"Yes. Will loves her."

"I meant because she has a good friend. You knew exactly what was bothering her. And helped her through it."

"It wasn't that difficult—occupational hazard, I'd call it." Emily said, dryly. "I'm, uh, sorry about dinner. We were unprofessional talking about all those things."

"I didn't think so." Hotch said, "It's obvious you were well-liked here. You know, I never read your file. At first I was determined you weren't staying, then after that, it wasn't necessary. You'd already proven you were a valuable asset to the team. What was in your file didn't matter—at least to me. You'd already proven you more than belonged."

"Thanks." Where was he going with this? Apparently, once Hotch decided to open up to someone, he really opened up.

"If I'd known you were plotting to deep fry me," he continued in the same flat voice. "I might have read the file to search for any other prior bad acts."

"You probably would have found some." Emily's lips twitched, realizing he'd heard her joke, earlier. "I'd been accused of being reckless, you know."

"It must have been hard, moving from a leading position to a subordinate." Hotch said. It explained a few things, how sometimes she seemed to struggle holding in insubordinate words—to him. To Erin Strauss. Her sir after she'd told him how much she hated politics during the Nathan Harris incident had bordered on the line of disrespectful.

If she hadn't appeared so deeply upset by her own words—and his—he would have called her on it. He'd wondered then about her aversion to politics.

"It took some getting used to. I'll admit it. But I understand the position you'd found yourself in, Hotch. I did. Even been on the other side of the desk before." Emily opened a can of the soda she'd had Morgan bring back from the store for JJ, and took a long drink. "But that was months ago. We're good now."

"Yes, we are." Hotch said, wrapping one hand around her upper arm, left bare by that damned red tank top. Squeezed lightly, pulled her just a little bit closer. "I'm glad you chose the BAU, Emily."

"Me, too." Emily smiled up at him, her shoulder bumping his slightly. Deliberately. "And don't worry, I returned the olive oil. Most of it. The pot, I never did find one big enough."

"I'm, uh, glad." Hotch said. "I probably wouldn't have been good deep fried, anyway. Too gristly. Stir-fried, maybe, or sautéed—those would be better choices. Healthier, too."

Emily snorted with laughter, seeing the spark in his dark eyes in the low lamp light. The man did have a sense of humor, though she'd doubted it at first. It was just very dry, and completely unexpected.

She hoped she'd get to see more of it.

"I'm, uh, going to try to shove JJ over and get some sleep." Emily said, awkwardly. "Good night."

"Hang on. I'll carry her to her room. Let you have your bed back." Hotch said.

"Ok." Emily said, following him into her bedroom, where JJ was sprawled over the center of Emily's bed.

He scooped JJ up like she was a child, tucking her close to his chest. The liaison didn't awaken. Emily led the way to JJ's room and pulled the blankets back. Hotch deposited the blonde in the center of the mattress and Emily removed her slippers and pulled the blankets over her friend.

"Hormones." She whispered. "She'll sleep like the dead for the rest of the night."

"Must be nice." Hotch sighed. "I don't remember the last time I slept through the entire night."

"Me, either." Emily admitted. "Is it weird we live for this job?"

"I ask myself that everyday."

"Me, too." Emily sighed as they left the other woman's room. Returned to the kitchenette. "Hotch—you want to watch a movie? There's no way I can get back to sleep tonight."

***

INTERIM EIGHT

Charlotte Perkins Gilman wrote:

There was a time when patience ceased to be a virtue. It was long ago.

Seven women, over a seven year period. All disappearing within the same two week time span—late May to early June—in what appeared to be sudden, blitz attacks. And the Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Dept. had failed to make the connection. Did that many women go missing from the Indianapolis area every year to warrant such an oversight?

Emily sighed as Hotch pulled the glass doors to the Indianapolis field office open. How many more women would have been targeted if it hadn't come to the BAU's notice?

She'd studied the portraits on the plane, wondering about the women on the paper. Wondered why them? Tried to get into the UNSUBS head. Was it just women with dark hair? Taller women? Successful, unmarried women? How did he find them? What was his trigger?

All of it flashed through her mind on a continuous reel.

Hopefully these interviews would give them some of the answers they needed.

Of all the things about this job, Hotch thought as he knocked on the door of a pretty blue and white Craftsman home, talking to the loved ones was the part he hated the absolute most. The door swung open, revealing a woman in her mid-fifties, with dark brown hair faintly touched with gray, and empty dark brown eyes.

It was always the eyes that hit Hotch the hardest. They reminded him of his mother the day his father had died. Empty, lifeless—hopeless.

Emma Miller's mother's eyes were no different. "I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner and this is SSA Emily Prentiss, we're here to ask you some questions about your daughter. May we come in?"

"Emma? Have you found her, my God!" The woman's voice broke, and she pulled the door open further, peering around the dark-haired man on her porch, looking to the dark-haired woman behind him.

"Ma'am," Emily said softly, as she moved out from behind Hotch's right shoulder. Moved so the woman saw her fully. "We've not found your daughter, but we are trying to find out what happened to her."

"Oh, God. Oh God," The woman cried, covering her face with her hands. "Oh my baby!"

Emily raised one hand, touched the woman's shoulder lightly. "Ma'am, we are very sorry about your daughter. But we need your help. Can we come in and talk—anything you can tell us, will help us."

The woman moved then, collapsing on Emily's shoulder, as she cried. To Emily, the grief the woman was suffering was as fresh as if her daughter hadn't been missing a year, as if it had happened only yesterday. She held the woman, rocked her slightly, and looked at Hotch over the woman's head.

His eyes reflected the sympathy that was flooding Emily.

It was a long fifteen minutes before the woman calmed, fifteen minutes spent on the porch of a small bungalow with ceramic cats and a yard gnome on the front lawn. Fifteen minutes of one woman's horrific grief.

It left both Emily and Hotch raw, though neither one let it show.

"You have the same eyes as my girl." The woman suddenly said. "Big, dark. Compassionate."

They didn't know if she was talking to Emily or Hotch, she'd yet to look up from where her head rested against Emily's shoulder. They'd moved her to the porch swing; though old, it was sturdy, supporting both Emily and Mrs. Miller. It creaked as Emily rocked it, a rhythmic song that was soothing in itself. "Tell me about her. About your daughter. What did she liked to do more than anything?"

"She played the piano. And took photographs." The woman laughed softly, remembering. "I gave her a camera, you see. Just an old one-ten, when she was about seven. After that, she always had a camera in her hand. Always."

"What sort of photographs did she prefer? I love shooting in black and white, it's timeless, classic." Emily said, her tone encouraging.

"She loved taking pictures of butterflies, so she always used color. But never digital. No, my baby was old school. She'd spend hours over at the zoo's butterfly exhibit. Gorgeous work."

"My friend JJ adores butterflies. She has a collection that covers her entire living room. I took a few black and whites for her birthday, but I haven't developed them yet. What else did Emma like to do?"

"She liked to take long walks. In the park, around the city, just shooting whatever caught her attention. Very independent, she liked to be alone." The woman nodded. "So we just thought she got distracted. She did that. Anything caught her attention, and there she'd go."

"That day, Mrs. Miller, did you talk to Emma?" Hotch asked, leaning forward in the wicker chair he occupied.

"She told me she was going to the river to take a few shots, the clouds were awesome that day. She hadn't got the chance to go out that day. She worked in a studio, long hours, but it was hers. She worked so hard. Built it from the ground up. Spent all her time there. I worried, told her she'd never have a family, children, if she didn't take the time now."

"What did she say to that?" Emily asked, smiling softly, her hand covering the woman's.

"She told me, 'don't be silly, mother. I'm only thirty-three. Plenty of time for me and Steven to have children.''' Her words were a half sob, but she continued. "Those were the last words I said to my daughter. The last thing I heard her do was laugh."

"Steven?" Hotch asked. "How long had they been together?"

"Four years. He was her partner. They worked together everyday. Were so very close. They just hadn't 'bothered with a piece of paper'. They lived together, I didn't mind. He made her happy. And I liked having them here in the house with me. Kept the silence at bay."

"Where is Steven now?" Emily asked, knowing they'd need to talk to the man.

"He's probably at the studio." The woman sighed. "It hit him hard, Em's disappearance. He goes to work and comes home. Stays in the basement when he's home. That's where their darkroom was. But I don't think he uses it for that anymore. He just sits down there. Just sits, and misses her."

"Mrs. Miller, I promise you, we will do our very best to find out what happened to your daughter." Hotch said. "We may have more questions for you. Is it ok if we call?"

"Yes. I want to know, Agent Hotchner. One way or the other, I want to know." She turned her palm up, and squeezed Emily's hand where it held hers.

Hotch looked at her, parent to parent. "I understand."

"These are some seriously beautiful works." Emily said, peering at the framed portrait of a butterfly on the wall. "Serious talent. Maybe I should try shooting in color occasionally."

"How often do you take photos?" Hotch asked, as they waited for Steven Lucas. They were currently in the lobby of the studio he'd shared with Emma Miller. The studio was immaculate, not a hair out of place. It was classy, professional, and a little sterile.

All the better to accentuate the framed pieces on the walls.

"Not often enough." Emily admitted, "Especially since transferring to Washington. Just no time."

"That frame in your condo, by the door. That one of yours?" He'd seen it briefly when he'd gone to her place to convince her not to resign. The piece was a beautiful, elegant, monochromatic shot.

"One of my first pieces." Emily admitted. "I remember how excited I was when I developed it. Now, I can see what's wrong with it—composition, framing, lighting…but I'll never take it down."

"I understand." Hotch nodded, moving slightly closer to look at the photograph in front of her.

"It was one of her last." A male voice rasped from behind them. "The last roll she developed before she was gone. It deserved to be displayed."

Emily and Hotch turned to see a man around their own age standing in the lobby. He was equally as tall as Hotch, and had similar coloring. He wore a suit—sans jacket—but the cotton wasn't pressed, and his shirt was slightly untucked. To Emily, he looked too sloppy to be in this chic boutique.

"Jolene called me. Said you'd been to her house and you had questions."

"I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner and this is SSA Emily Prentiss. We've just got a few questions." Hotch shook the man's hand, and Emily repeated the gesture.

Mr. Lucas lingered a little longer on her face than he had Hotch's. Hotch didn't miss it. Lucas smiled sadly before saying, "You have similar features. To my Emma."

"Mr. Lucas, we are sorry for what you've gone through." Emily told him, finally pulling her hand from his. "But we need to know everything you can tell us about the week before Emma went missing."

"It's been a year, Agent Prentiss." Steven Lucas said, bluntly. "If the police couldn't find Emma then, what makes you think you can find her now."

"We think Emma may have been the victim of a serial abductor. We are trying to find him, and stop him before he hurts anyone else." Hotch said.

"What can I do for you? What do you want to know?" He sank down into a chair, dropping his elbows to his knees. "I don't know what good this will do."

"Everything you can tell us about that last week, that last day especially will help us find who took her." Hotch said. "She went missing on a Thursday. What can you tell me about the weekend before. What did you do?"

"That weekend, we went down to Bloomington." He looked out the window, remembering. "Lake Monroe. There's a small cliff there that she loved to take shots of. That one there."

He pointed to a framed print behind Emily's head.

"Did anything strange happen?" Emily asked.

"Strange, no. We hiked, we laughed. Talked about getting a dog. She told me she wanted to try to raise a dog before we made the big jump to having a baby. Wondered what her mother would say if we brought a St. Bernard into the house. She was always laughing. Always. Everything thrilled her. She had such a joy for everything. You know what I mean, Agent Hotchner?" He looked directly at Hotch, before turning toward the dark-haired woman on his left, leaned closer. "We got home late, Bloomington is a good hour and a half drive."

"What about the next day?" Emily urged.

"We worked, went home, made dinner, and slept. It was like a hundred other days."

"And then?" Hotch asked, drawing the man's eyes away from Emily, yet again.

"It was the same."

"And the day she disappeared? Can you tell us about that?" Emily asked.

"She left before I did. I was push processing a roll. A special project for a client. Emma wanted to go to the store, wanted chocolate. She loved chocolate. I kissed her, told her I'd see her at home. She laughed and said I'd probably beat her there—she might stop at the Botanical Gardens over by the zoo, the river. But that she loved me and would see me at home. Told me to make spaghetti. Said she wanted Italian. I never saw her again, Agent Hotchner."

"Thank you for talking to us, Mr. Lucas. We're going to do the very best we can to find out what happened to your Emma. I promise you that." Hotch spoke as he rose, a move echoed by the other two. "We may have a few more questions, in the next few days. If that 's all right with you."

"I want to find her." Steven said, shaking Hotchner's hand. Then Emily's. He didn't release hers. "You do have similar features, Agent Prentiss. It's odd."

"We're sorry for what happened to her, Mr. Lucas." Emily said, "Thank you for speaking with us."

"Whatever I can do to find my Emma—I will."

They had one more interview to do before they could return to the field office, and it went much as the last one had. Mr. Walter Edwin had been devastated by the disappearance of his girlfriend of ten years. She'd went to the store and had never returned. The police had been reluctant to even consider her as a missing person. She'd worked as a surveyor and would be gone for days at a time. They'd thought there'd been a miscommunication. Until she hadn't shown back up in a month. They'd waited a month to even begin searching, and by then the trail had gone completely cold.

"A woman goes missing, and they don't even start looking for her for a month? What the hell, Hotch?" Emily was perturbed, and her voice echoed it, as Hotch opened the door to the little eatery they'd found three blocks from the field office.

"I know. It was sloppy and inefficient. Plus they hadn't connected the crimes yet." Hotch placated, as they slid into opposite sides of the booth. A waitress with curly red blond hair bustled over to take their drink orders and give them menus. "Emma Miller and Alana Carter were both independent women, who went places by themselves frequently."

"Yes." Emily said, "So what are you getting at?"

He paused long enough to give the waitress his order, and Emily did the same. "All of these women were successful. Highly motivated and independent. If he was a blitzer, like Preatt, how would he manage to get the same type of woman each time?"

"My God, Hotch. He's stalks them." Emily realized. "Watches their every move—knows their schedules, then when there is an opening, moves in and grabs."

"Exactly—so what do we know about stalkers?" Hotch asked.

"They stalk for three reasons—love, jealousy, vengeance—for the most part. They most likely suffer from varying forms of paranoid personality disorder, dependent personality disorder, or obsessive compulsive disorder—if not more. Most are in their thirties and forties—which fits with the age range of the victims—twenty-nine to forty-two. Obsessional crimes are more Morgan's area than mine."

They discussed the case a little more, than paused to enjoy their meals. Once back outside in the warm Indiana weather, they continued their discussion as they walked back to the company issue SUV.

"We need to find out where he first sees these women, Hotch." Emily said.

"If it was at a public place, there might be a credit trail. I'll have Garcia run down a list of all the victims' last receipts for the month prior to their disappear—" He trailed off as they neared the vehicle. Hotch unholstered his weapon and motioned for her to do the same. Just in case.

"What is it?" She whispered. Then she saw what he had.

The front window was busted—big circular strike marks surrounded by spider webbing. Someone had hit the vehicle extremely hard—with intense rage. All four tires were deflated, holes slashed out of the rubber completely.

Whomever had done it had been seriously pissed off, and Emily couldn't help but wonder who they had angered so badly just by eating in a restaurant. It just didn't make any sense.

INTERIM NINE

Thomas Berry wrote:

There is an ultimate wildness in all this, for the universe, as existence itself, is a terrifying as well as a benign mode of being. If it grants us amazing powers over much of its functioning we must always remember that any arrogance on our part will ultimately be called to account. The beginning of wisdom in any human activity is a certain reverence before the primordial mystery of existence, for the world about us is a fearsome mode of being. We do not judge the universe.

"So how are we gonna do this?" Tony Amecci asked, as he and Morgan approached the first house on their list. Amecci hated talking to victims' families, and he always tried to avoid it, if possible. Today, it wasn't possible. "I don't do a lot of family interviews, man. I leave it to my partner, Tasia."

"Wasn't that one of the people mentioned the other night? At Spinelli's?"

"My partner. Her and Em were pretty close. No other team leader really wanted Stamios." Tony added, "Em gave her a shot, she's not forgotten that. I'm sure she'll be pretty upset to have missed Em-ee-lee."

Morgan knocked on the door, and the conversation ended and was quickly forgotten. The man who answered was a good five years older than Morgan. He was dressed sedately, khaki's and polo, both pressed perfectly. His dark hair was combed neatly to one side, and wire-framed glasses covered his dark brown eyes. "Can I help you?"

"James Edding? I'm SSA Derek Morgan, and this is SSA Tony Amecci. We're here to talk to you about the disappearance of Amanda O'Neil."

"I've already talked to you guys over and over. It hasn't done any good. Why now?"

Morgan took control of the interview, but they learned nothing helpful, just that Amanda O'Neil, successful caterer, had disappeared one night after locking her company down for the night. She was just gone.

He knocked on the door of the second house a little after two in the afternoon. The man who answered was a severe man. His black hair was parted starkly over his right temple and brushed ruthlessly down. His eyes were a dark brown, equally as cold as Hotch's—a detail that lodged itself in Derek's brain. The man's suit was something the BAU leader would have worn, as well.

"Mr. Powers, we're here to ask you some questions about the disappearance of Margo Jenkins. May we come in?" Morgan and Amecci flashed their badges.

"I have twenty minutes before I have to leave for court. Can you make it as fast as possible?" The man's voice was flat and Derek had a hard time reading him. It made him on edge.

"Can you tell us about the week before Ms. Jenkins disappeared." Derek cut right to the chase.

"It was the week between Christmas and New Years." The man's voice cracked, almost imperceptibly. "We had a case—she was one hell of an attorney, Agent Morgan—but it unexpectedly wrapped up, early. I went to the office to file the paperwork. She wasn't feeling well—wanted some damned chocolate. So she drove the Lexus to the store. They found the car. Found her chocolate. Never found her."

"Mr. Powers, I am sorry for what you've experienced. What about that week, did anything out of the ordinary happen?" Morgan asked, trying to diver the man from his loss. "Anything that struck you as odd?"

"The SUV." The man said, "Three days before, someone took a ball bat to the windshield of my Explorer. Then sliced the tires. I filed a report, but it happened outside the courthouse, in a public parking lot. The police just assumed it was a pissed-off defendant. I work for the prosecutors' office. So did Margo. Everyone just assumed someone from our past cases took her, but we never could find out who."

"Thank you for talking with us today." Morgan said, shaking the man's hand. "We are sorry to have to dredge this all up."

"Agent Morgan, if by some chance you do catch the son-of-a-bitch who took her, make him pay."

"I'll do the very best I can."

"Hello, beautiful." Kevin's breath whispered across Penelope's neck, and she jumped, shivering.

"Kevin! What have I told you about that?" She shrieked, spinning in her chair.

"I know, but you are just so beautiful." He looked sweet and abashed and she had to forgive him. "I wanted to bring you this. I know you don't like to leave the office when your team is out. And I thought you might be hungry."

"You are the most wonderful man on earth!" She took the box with its wonderful smells of sesame chicken and lo mien wafting out. "You have been a very good boy, and will be rewarded later!"

Before he could reply, her phone rang. "Penelope Garcia, goddess of the information highway speaking, to which cyber-city can I direct your call?"

She waved Kevin out of the office, and he grinned, before she shut the door in his face with a big wink. Then she spoke into the phone. "Hey you! Anything good happening over your way?"

"Hey, baby-girl. I need you to do me a favor."

"For you, anything." She spoke around a mouthful of Chinese. "Well, almost anything. Anything is reserved for Kevin."

"TMI, Pen. TMI." Derek said. "But as long as he treats my girl right, it's none of my business!"

"Right-o. So what do you need?"

"I need police reports for vandalism for a Mr. Joshua Powers and Margo Jenkins. Then I need you to check in the names of the four other Michigan victims and their partners. Fax the information to JJ and Reid and the Chicago office."

"Will do, oh dark god of the night." She swallowed another big bite. "Now I'm going to finish this wonderful food, Garcia over and out!"

"Hotch just called." JJ told Reid as he entered the conference room, followed by Agent Coombs. "Someone took a ball bat to their SUV while they were eating lunch. Slashed the tires, too. Hotch is pissed."

"They have any ideas who it was?" Reid asked, puzzled. "Why they'd do it?"

"Not a clue. Unless it was just random vandalism. But Hotch thinks there's too much rage behind it." JJ said, accepting the mug of hot chocolate the redheaded agent handed her. She'd had to find a substitute for coffee—the smell had nearly killed her since finding out about the baby. "Still, I'm glad their interviews are over—they'll be back today."

"Did they find anything useful?" Coombs asked.

"All of their victims, worked in some capacity with the men they were dating. Most were partners, and all were career-oriented and damned good at their jobs. And they think the UNSUB stalked the victims before blitzing them at weak moments."

"That's it?" Coombs' skepticism showed. "How does that help us?"

"Actually, it helps us a lot. Stalkers generally follow certain profiles—and the type of victims tells us that he most likely resents successful couples, or at least the women. The stressor was most likely a dark haired woman who was highly successful, motivated, and independent. They most likely worked together." Reid said excitedly. "But he has to find the woman and watch her for a while, meaning someone may have noticed him. Of course, most stalkers are highly intelligent, and can cover their presence rather well."

Before anyone else could comment JJ's phone rang. "Jareau, hey Derek. You find anything? Ok. I'll keep an eye on the fax machine. You'll be back in a few hours? Good. Hotch and Emily are already on their way. See you soon. Bye."

"What he'd find?" Reid asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet slightly. "Anything probative?"

"He's faxing a few police reports. And some other stuff. Should be here in a few minutes." JJ said, she stood and moved closer to the bulletin board, a stack of photos in her hand. It was what she and Reid had been working on all day, in between interviews with the families of the four Chicago victims. They'd found similar information to Hotch and Emily—all their victims were successful at their jobs, and were deeply involved with their romantic partners. JJ started pinning 8 x 10's of the boyfriends/fiances to the board beneath the victims, starting with the Chicago. Morgan had had Garcia email JJ photos of Mr. Powers, and the other Detroit men.

Reid stared at the portraits as JJ pinned them—nine men stared back. "JJ."

"Yeah, Spence," JJ wasn't really looking at the pictures, just making sure she had the right man beneath the right victim. So she didn't see what Reid did. "What is it?"

"Come here, look."

"Ok, what?" She asked, moving to stand beside him, as Coombs stood and moved closer. "What is it?"

"What do you notice about each of those men?" Reid asked, one hand on her shoulder, the other pointing at the bulletin.

"Brown and brown." JJ's voice was flat. "They've all got brown and brown. Male and female."

"So the men were part of the victimology, too." Reid said, excited. This was a big step forward.

"Now we just need to get with Hotch and Emily and make sure their victims follow the same pattern." JJ said, as the sound of the fax machine whirred through the room. "Here's Derek's faxes."

The stack of papers was thick and it took quite a while to sort them into appropriate piles for each victim. JJ pinned each report under the victims, then picked up her phone. "Garcia, I need you to check police reports in the weeks before each disappearance—both Chicago and Indianapolis. Thanks."

Reid waited until she disconnected. "What are you getting at?"

"Each of the Detroit victims were also the victims of petty vandalism within the week of disappearance, Reid." JJ said, motioning to a row of police reports pinned to the bulletin board. "Vehicles and/or places of business."

"So Garcia's running the other victims." Reid stated.

"I don't get it." Coombs questioned. "Why wasn't this noticed before?"

"Most of the victims worked in slightly higher crime areas," Reid said, thinking it through as he spoke, "And each city had only one disappearance each year. The vandalisms were apparently just secondary. I mean, a lawyer's car being bashed with a ball bat—or the tires sliced, isn't an unheard of occurrence."

"I guess not." Coombs said. "Why would this guy do that? I mean, and risk getting caught? It doesn't make sense."

"He can't help himself." Reid began, "He has to do it, for whatever reason. It's part of his signature, the one thing he cannot change, no matter what. Compulsion."

"So where do we go from here?" Coombs asked.

"Wait until the rest of the team is here." JJ said, "Wait on Garcia's information. Put it all together, then identify this bastard."

The Detroit pair arrived two hours before the Indianapolis pair was scheduled to land. Garcia had come through, as always, with a list of police reports, and driver's license photos for all the victims' partners. JJ and Reid had them all pinned up in appropriate places, and were just waiting with Derek and the two Chicago agents to arrive.

"So this guy stalks his victims—and we can consider the men as part of the victimology." Derek said, while they waited on Emily and Hotch. "Attacks their vehicles—most likely as misplaced rage against the male in the equation. The driver's sides of each vehicle were much more damaged than the passenger."

"So how does that mean the male is the one he's raging against?" Amecci asked.

"Typically, the male partner in a relationship does the majority of the driving." JJ answered. "So by damaging the driver's side, he was targeting the male."

"So why successful dark-eyed guys?" Amecci asked, his own dark eyes puzzled. "Or couples, rather."

"Maybe you're on to something." Reid said, moving to the bulletin board. "Look at the pictures of the men, then look at the women. The men have very little variance in appearance. They've all got extremely dark hair, right? Even similar hair styles. But the women's range from medium brown to black. The same with the men's eyes. All are darker brown, but the women's go from light brown to dark."

"So are you saying the men are the real targets?" Amecci asked. "So why take the women?"

"To make the men suffer." Coombs said, bluntly. "If someone were to take my wife, it would break me. Completely. I'd rather they killed me, then take her away. Hurt her in any way."

"Exactly." Morgan said, quietly. "This guy isn't just taking the women for some sexual reason—he's doing it to make their partners suffer."

Morgan's phone rang and he answered, before putting it on speaker.

"Hey my little crime fighters, and baby-JJ, here's what I found. All the victims worked closely with their partners and all had vehicles vandalized approximately four days before their disappearance. And all the men were within the ages of thirty-eight and forty-three. A much smaller age window then the female victims."

"Thanks, Garcia." Morgan said, then disconnecting the phone after hearing the dial tone.

Before anyone else could speak, Morgan looked up and caught sight of Emily through the glass window. Two feet behind her, Hotch carried his ready bag in one hand, his suit jacket in the other. Emily looked over her shoulder at him, and said something, to which the man replied, a small, rare smile touching his coldly severe face.

Morgan's eyes left the couple and briefly touched the bulletin board. He ran his gaze over each of the sixteen victims and their partners' faces in the next row—mind quickly cataloging the dark hair and the dark eyes. Cataloging his colleagues' dark hair and dark eyes.

He jerked around to face the couple as they opened the glass doors to the conference room.

"Hey, what have you all found?" Emily asked, smiling in greeting. It took her a minute to realize everyone was staring at her and Hotch intensely. "What?"

"Dammit!" Morgan cursed, his fist rapping against the tabletop.

"Morgan?" Hotch's brows rose, surprised. "Is there something we've missed?"

"Yeah." JJ said, voice trembling almost imperceptivity. "You two are the next targets."

INTERIM TEN

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."
- Frank Herbert

"Excuse me?" Hotch asked, putting his ready bag beneath the table. "What have we missed?"

"You and Emily fit the victimology, for the most part." JJ said, motioning to the board.

"Why Hotch?" Emily asked, moving to look at the board.

"Every victim worked with—or was involved with—a man with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes, between the ages of thirty-eight and forty-two. Similar manner of dress and all successful in their careers." Morgan said. "And all had their vehicles vandalized—ball bat and knife—with more damage on the drivers' sides."

"Your SUV—where was the damage concentrated?" Amecci asked, absently handing Emily a bag of Reese's pieces he'd opened. It was a habitual gesture that no one really missed. "Your side or Em-ee-lee's?"

"Driver's." Hotch admitted, seeing their reasoning. "What else have you got, Morgan?"

"All the victims worked with their domestic partners." Morgan answered. "All the couples were successful, career-oriented. Mostly white collar professionals. It's possible this guy saw you two in Indianapolis and decided you fit what he was looking for."

"We've established that he stalks the victims first." Reid began. "But in this case, maybe he realizes that you're chasing him. So he's devolving, quickly. You've forced him to change. Break pattern."

"So he's turned the tables, and decided that you two are next." Amecci said. "He's hunting you while you're hunting him."

"So he's seen us."Emily said, bluntly, arms crossed in front of her chest, as she paced back and forth in front of the bulletin board. Everyone could see her obvious agitation. No one mentioned it. "But where?"

"In Indianapolis—airport, convenience store, field office, restaurant, the Millers, Lucas's studio, and the Trueblood's, and Fielding's. Three other interviews were done at the field office." Hotch said, flatly. No one would guess he had a knot in his stomach as he watched her move. How much he hated knowing she was upset, worried. "Those were the only places we went. So he'd have to have been watching the victims' houses to have seen us. But all of those women have been missing a year or more. Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe he wants to see how much the men are suffering." Coombs suggested, hesitantly. He was the only one in the group who was currently married. "Maybe he gets some sort of thrill?"

"That would fit with why he victimizes the women. The women varied much more than the men." Morgan said. "Career choices, physical appearance, hobbies—they were all over the scale. But the men—they all had several characteristics in common. Most were reserved—even cold."

"Tall, lean, clean-cut." Emily added, thinking of the men they'd interviewed in Indy. "Dressed conservatively. Serious natured, more than reserved."

"Most of the ones we interviewed were emotionally dependent upon the women in their lives. Nothing that stood out, mind you. But it was obvious the women were a bit more expressive than the men." JJ said.

"But what does that tell us?" Morgan asked, moving closer to Emily as she stood staring at the bulletin board. He knew she wasn't really seeing the photographs, that she was lost in thought somewhere inside that head of hers. He'd seen Reid do it before, too.

"That the UNSUB doesn't really know how to express himself emotionally." Hotch said, bluntly, moving to Emily's other side. "Maybe that's why his own relationship failed. Maybe he killed his partner, maybe she left him—either way, he blames himself. So he is striking out at men who have what he had, who remind him of himself and what he lost. And taking from them what he lost to replace her."

"So how do we find him?" Amecci said, not lost to the undercurrents that had briefly touched the other man's words. "Look for cold white guys who are emotionally stunted?"

"Somebody has seen this guy. And we have a definite pattern of chronology." Emily said, one hand raised toward the board. "Chicago disappearances are always between December 15 and January 1. Indianapolis are always between May 15 and June 1. And Detroit, always August 15 to September 1. Always, one a year. For the last seven years. Guys—if he's stuck to the pattern, and seven women are missing from Indianapolis, we should have more bodies in Detroit and Chicago."

"Three more in Chicago and two in Detroit." JJ said. "And someone is about to go missing in Indianapolis this week. What are we going to do?"

"I don't know." Hotch said. "We may have to warn the public in Indianapolis."

"And say what? If you have dark hair and eyes and your girlfriend does too, watch out for a homicidal maniac?" Amecci asked. "Will that work? And what if this guy really has targeted Emily? Then what?"

"She goes absolutely nowhere alone." Hotch said, looking directly at her. "Not even to the vending machines in search of Reese's peanut butter cups."

"Gotcha. I'll send Derek." Emily said, nodding. Who was she to argue? She was far from stupid, and knew better than to wander around a hotel when someone had potentially targeted her for murder. "I'm not too eager to meet this guy."

"Why does he have a pattern—Chicago, Indianapolis, Detroit?" Coombs asked, puzzled. "It has to be significant, right? I mean, does he plan it every year, does he travel to those cities every year? Or is he just already there?"

"My guess is he's already there. While it's possible he drives between the three, I'd put my money on the fact that he lives in the areas at the times of disappearances. How else can he be guaranteed of appropriate victims if he's not in the area to find them?" Morgan answered.

"So what would put you in the area at Christmas time, end of Spring, and beginning of the fall?" Emily asked, something niggling her brain. "Christmas break, spring break, summer break? No. Timing is a little off. But not if—it's the end of school terms!"

"What?" JJ asked. "What is?"

"Think. Colleges. Semesters usually end before Christmas, before June first, and the summer terms before September first." Emily said. "But why three different locations?"

"He teaches at three different locations." Reid suddenly said. "Maybe doing a visiting lecturer rotation between the three cities."

"Morgan, call Garcia. Have her run a list of all lecturers working in the three cities. Cross-referencing the times specified. Focus on white males, between thirty-five and forty-five, who are divorced or unmarried." Hotch ordered. "Tell her we specifically need to place the individuals in the cities at the appropriate times. Have her check all missing persons for the time frames, any woman who might fit the pattern—successful, white collar. Everyone else—it's been a long day, I suggest we head back to the hotel."

Emily was silent for most of the ride back to the hotel. JJ kept shooting her worried looks, as did Hotch. Reid and Morgan—crammed in on either side of JJ—carried on a low conversation, but they, too, were concerned.

Emily paid them no attention, instead, just working out what she had to in her head—trying to push her feelings ruthlessly into neat little compartments.

"We need to know how he takes them." She said, quietly. All conversation stopped, as the team turned to her. "Find where he saw them."

"We'll do that first thing in the morning. I want JJ to hold a press conference, as well." Hotch said, as he maneuvered the vehicle around a corner. "You and I will not be on screen."

"There's got to be something." She sighed, looking out her window at the passing Chicago streets.

"We'll find it." He said. It was as if it was only them in the vehicle and no one—especially Derek—had missed it. "In the morning."

"Yes." Emily said, her words flat.

They ordered in, Chinese this time. Emily played with her lo mien, not having much of an appetite, but the only one to notice was Hotch. He noticed everything about her now. And he hated knowing she was upset, and hiding it.

She buried her emotions so deeply, that he doubted she'd know how to react any other way.

Not that he was too thrilled knowing they fit the profile. Knowing they'd most likely been targeted. Knowing that he really didn't know where the threat was coming from, and therefore couldn't guarantee her absolute safety.

But he knew how to do his job, and that was the best way to find this son of a bitch before he could get anywhere near Emily.

And he'd make damned sure to catch the bastard.

GARCIAGARCIAGARCIAGARCIA

Penelope worked through the night, no breaks, no disturbances. She just worked. The rest of the team might be the more traditional superheroes but when it came down to it, they couldn't do their jobs without the information she provided.

She was damned important in the greater scheme of things—and she knew it.

And she was determined to find out what she could on this monster before he so much as breathed in Emily's—or Hotch's—direction. Nobody threatened her family. Nobody.

She didn't even look up when Kevin knocked on her office door, just told him she was busy and couldn't leave. Didn't even look up to see if he left.

He didn't. He sank down into the spare chair she kept in her office, and watched her work. He loved watching her in the midst of a technical information odyssey. It was beautiful, it was mind-boggling. It was totally awesome. He was so glad they'd met—although he hated how they'd met and the reasons behind it.

"Penelope?" He said, after watching her for nearly an hour.

"Oh God!" She jumped. "You're still here! Why are you still here?"

"I drove you to work this morning, remember? Esther is having her annual check-up, remember?" Kevin said, stuttering slightly. "I couldn't just leave you to find your own way home whenever. It isn't safe!"

"Oh. Yeah. I don't think I will be going home tonight."

"Why?"

"This monster is after my Emily." Penelope's voice broke. "She and Hotch fit the victimology, and they think he's seen her. Hotch needs me to find the connection. Help keep her safe. And I am going to find that connection. I can't be distracted. I can't."

"Can I help?" Kevin asked.

"Can you help?" Penelope had never even considered it. She was used to doing her part of the job alone. Always. "I don't know."

"I can read, take notes, watch screens? Anything. You don't have to do it alone, tonight."

"Ok." Penelope's voice was hesitant, like a young girl's. It made Kevin smile. "Hotch wants me to analyze the victims' credit receipts for the two months prior to their disappearances. You can help."

"Ok." Kevin shrugged, and moved his chair up to a screen. He didn't mind helping her with something like this—it was important, and they were doing it together. She trusted him, and that meant all the world to the computer analyst.

What more could a man ask for?

"Chocolate." Kevin said, nearly four hours later.

"What? No, not now." Penelope said distractedly, not looking at him.

"No. That's the common element." Kevin said, excitedly. Penelope looked up at him. "There was always chocolate. Always, exactly two days before the car was vandalized. Always."

"That's it? Chocolate?" Penelope was as puzzled as Kevin. "I'll send the information to Hotch, along with the lists of lecturers common to Detroit, Chicago, and Indianapolis."

"That's it." Kevin said, shrugging. "So what is the significance of chocolate?"

"That question is best left to the profilers, my sexy GUI man." Penelope smiled, relaxing some. "Hopefully they'll figure it out in the morning, and will be on their way back here safe and sound quicker than a jiffy."

Emily missed Kurt. His purring always helped drown out the nightmare residue that clouded her mind. Tonight she couldn't shake them off. And she couldn't go wondering the hotel, not with Hotch's edict ringing in her ears.

Not that she was stupid enough to leave the hotel room alone with what had happened. She wasn't some dumb character from a slasher movie. The one who always wandered away at the stupidest, most dangerous time. The one who always wondered why she was the one to die.

That definitely wasn't Emily. She was the smart one, the one who survived. Did whatever it took.

And she definitely was a survivor.

This son of a bitch was not going to get her, and she knew the best way to stop him was by identifying him.

Still, that didn't help her sleep at three a.m.

And with Emily, the weak point was always three a.m., always.

She crept into the kitchen as silently as she could, not wanting to wake the man sleeping on the pullout. The window blinds were open, and the room was flooded with dim, blue light from the signs below. It was enough to outline his athletic body in sweats and t-shirt.

He must have sensed her presence, for he rolled onto his back and his eyes popped open. He immediately focused on her, nearly ten feet away. "Emily?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. I just wanted some soda." She whispered, feeling the awkwardness associated with Hotch once again.

"Insomnia?" Hotch sat up, the t-shirt pulling across his chest, hinting at the toned body beneath. "Want to talk a while?"

"Not really." Emily said, moving to sink down onto the foot of his bed. "I don't have much to say."

"I know." Hotch moved to sit beside her, tried not to think of how good she smelled, how rumpled she looked, how all he wanted to do was put his arms around her and hold her to him.

Just once. Just for a little bit. Until she felt a little better.

Just like he had in a New York hospital chapel.

***

INTERIM ELEVEN

George Burns said,
There will always be a battle between the sexes because men and women want different things. Men want women and women want men.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Emily sat beside him, not speaking, not moving, just staring toward the window and the night sky.

"Emily?" Hotch's voice was soft, but showed no sign of hesitancy. "We'll find this guy."

"Before another woman goes missing?" Emily sighed, "Dammit, Hotch. We know what's out there, who this guy is gunning for. And we can take care of ourselves—and I am still scared. But what if it's someone else who disappears? They won't know what we do, and…"

"It sucks. Stinks. But, honey, all we can do is our jobs." The endearment escaped without either one of them noticing. He wrapped one hand around her arm, pulled her slightly closer. She didn't resist, didn't think to. Things were changing fast between them, and she just couldn't seem to care. It was kind of nice, and he was comforting. "We'll do the press conference tomorrow. Hopefully, that will scare him off. Buy us enough time to catch up to him."

"I know. The logical part of me knows." Emily said, hesitantly. She wasn't used to sharing her thoughts, her feelings, with anyone, with the possible exception of Morgan. Never Hotch, though. "But the other part…"

"The one who rules the three a.m. world?" Hotch said, "I know. I've laid awake many a night just wondering."

"Yes." Emily pulled her knees to her chest. "How long have you been doing this? A dozen years? Does it ever get any easier?"

"No." Hotch admitted, leaning his shoulder against her smaller one. "It never does."

"Great." She smiled at him, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I think I'll head back to bed, maybe watch a movie."

"Want to watch one out here?" Hotch asked. "I doubt I'll be able to sleep for a while anyway."

"Sure." She didn't really want to be alone, either. So if that meant watching another movie with her supervisor, she would.

JJJAREAUJJJAREAUJJJAREAU

JJ hated the morning. Always had, but being pregnant made that hatred a little more developed. Still, it also made her the first one up the following morning. After doing her duty to the god of morning sickness—and it was definitely a male deity, a female wouldn't do that to another woman—she went in search of chocolate pudding. She loved chocolate pudding and Emily made doubly sure she had plenty of it on away cases. JJ thanked God almost every day that he'd seen fit to send the older woman to replace Elle. Emily was a great friend.

What JJ didn't expect to see was that great friend sound asleep beside their supervisor, the home screen to a DVD showing on the large TV in the corner.

Emily was curled on her side, one hand thrown over Hotch's chest, fisted over his shoulder. Her knees were tucked up between them, keeping the pose from being too scandalous, but his arm was behind her, dipping dangerously low on the older woman's spine.

He lay flat on his back, his free arm splayed over his eyes. The blanket was tangled between them. JJ moved a little closer, unsure whether she should wake Emily up or not.

What would she say? What the hell had happened between them? Way to go, Em? What? Since when did Emily voluntarily get that close to the supervisor—whom she'd once described to JJ as a cold, unemotional, frozen, automaton who'd probably give a Yeti frostbite? Wow.

Whatever had happened that night in the hospital chapel—after Will had told Hotch Emily was alone, and JJ knew all about that restroom conversation—had certainly brought about a doozy of a change between the two most reserved team members.

But should JJ wake them?

The matter was taken out of JJ's hands when Hotch's arm moved and his dark eyes popped open. JJ jumped, startled.

"JJ." He said, in acknowledgment before turning toward the woman beside him. "I guess we fell asleep."

"Guess so." JJ said, feeling stupid and awkward. "The, uh, bathroom's free."

"Great. I'll be out in a bit. You want to wake her up while I take a shower?" They both knew, from long plane rides and numerous hotel stays, that it took a while for Emily to move from being asleep to being awake. And it wasn't a pleasant journey.

"Yeah. I'll do that." JJ watched as he rolled out of the bed and stood, stretching. She had to admit, that for a man around the age of forty, Aaron Hotchner was in pretty damned good shape. Especially when dressed in t-shirt and sweats. She almost couldn't blame Emily for snuggling up to that.

JJ's hormones were doing strange things to her body, and making her think strange things.

She sighed as she heard the suite's bathroom door close. She leaned down and grabbed her friend's shoulder. "Em, It's time to wake up."

"I don't want to." The brunette rolled fully on her stomach and wrapped her arms around Hotch's pillow completely. Snuggled it closer. "Go away."

"Can't. We have a bad guy to catch today, remember?" JJ's mouth quirked, this was something she'd seen before. Done before. Said before. "Care to tell me why you were in bed with Hotch? Anything I should know about?"

"Huh?" Came from the bed, and JJ watched as Emily's body tensed when her question sank in. The matted curls moved and Emily's head shot up, much like a turtle's, and she scanned her surroundings, blurry-eyed. "Hell."

"Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do." JJ snickered as Emily shot up quickly, nearly rolling off the edge of the pullout. "What happened in here, young lady?"

"I got up to go to the bathroom. I think. He was awake, we talked, watched a movie. I guess we fell asleep." Emily worked it out verbally, trying to remember if anything else had happened she needed to be aware of. "I think that's all."

"Wow. Emily slept with Hotch." JJ teased, then retreated when the older woman glared at her. "Relax, there was plenty of space between you when I woke up. And it's not like you haven't slept beside him before. And you were a hell of a lot closer to him then than you were this morning. And who cares, right? I mean, we've both—hell, all three of us, if you count Pen—fallen asleep on Derek. At the same time. It happens."

"Relax, then." Emily nodded as she spoke. "You've made perfect sense. It was no big deal."

"Right. No big deal."

"And our secret." Emily's glare told JJ not to argue.

But that didn't stop her from laughing.

Hotch knew she felt the awkwardness between them and he laughed inwardly as they approached the conference room. At least he knew she was now aware that things between them could change.

And in most instances of a single woman and a single man, when the dynamics changed between them—there would be a sexual component involved. Added.

As a profiler, she had to know that. Had to know how and why things were getting so strange between them. A part of him wanted to just confront her with his changing feelings, to just state it, get it out in the open and move forward from there. Caveman, primal, and primitive—he just wanted to grab her, back her against the nearest wall, and show her exactly what his changing feelings wanted him to do. To her, with her.

But the civilized man inside him reminded him that that approach probably wouldn't go over too well with her. Not her, with her independent and feminist streak. So he'd be subtle, teach her to trust him, count on him, turn to him when she needed something—someone, let her know that he valued her, wanted her. Understood her.

And he thought that the last few days he'd been doing really well at those goals.

And he'd not heard her mention that damned brother of Dave's even once.

He considered that something of a victory.

And her awkwardness was just proof that his plans were on their way to succeeding.

Derek dialed the familiar number that connected him with the queen of technology, and hit the button for the speaker. The blonde tech's voice soon filled the conference room, where he, Hotch, the Chicago agents, and the rest of the team sat.

"Hello, my dear crime fighters! Superman, Batman—I trust you're both keeping Wonder Woman safe out there? I have four names for you, and am still trying to run all the connections between the locations. I did find something else that was megalo-interesting. Each and every set of victims, had a purchase for the same item on their credit cards exactly two days before the vandalism occurred. Then, four days after the vandalism, the disappearance occurred."

"What was the item, Garcia?" Emily asked, trying to recall if she or Hotch had purchased anything significant in Indianapolis.

"Chocolate, my dear Goddess of the Strange. Chocolate."

"You're kidding?" JJ asked, bewildered. Why would chocolate be a trigger?

"Nope. And as an interesting—and possibly significant tidbit—the majority of the purchase was made on the man's credit card. Not sure how that fits in, but that's your job not mine, now isn't it?"

"Thanks, Garcia. Can you forward that list of names and the addresses to JJ?" Hotch said. He waited until the tech agreed, then disconnected the call.

"So. Did either of you buy chocolate in Indianapolis?" Morgan asked, looking at Emily significantly. It was almost a given that she had. Morgan had long accused her of living off the candy. "Emily?"

"Actually, I didn't." Emily said, nodding toward Hotch. "He bought it while I was in the restroom. Convenience store a few blocks from the Indianapolis Zoo—and the IUPUI campus."

"And Steven Lucas's studio." Hotch added flatly. "So he saw us in the convenience store, close enough to notice our purchases. Close enough to hear us talking."

"But Hotch, there wasn't anyone in that store who met this physical description." Emily argued. "I'm almost sure of it. Especially near enough to hear what we were talking about."

"What were you talking about?" Morgan asked.

"We mentioned the Fieldings, Lucas, and the Trubloods. Where we were going first." Hotch said, grimly. " He must have noticed our physical characteristics and moved closer. Realized I'd bought her chocolate. That triggered it. And he must have recognized the names, followed us from there. Must have saw our badges."

"And back to the field office." Emily said. "And then we went to lunch."

"And the son-of-a-bitch attacked our SUV." Hotch said, as they verbally worked out their previous actions. "Devolving and escalating. He'll get sloppy and make mistakes."

"Raging against you, Hotch, by attacking your side of the car." Reid said, thinking. "Angry because of the chocolate, because she was with you? I don't know."

"Hotch, can you think of anyone in that store that met the general physical description?" Reid asked, "What about anybody in that store?"

"There were two young guys near the soda machine." Emily remembered. "A couple by the maps. Out-of-towners. Us. And a guy near the motor oil? I accidentally bumped him on my way to the restroom. I hadn't seen him, and he stepped out right in front of me, I think."

"You were close enough for him to get a good look, then." Morgan said, flatly. "Was he still there when you came out of the restroom?"

"No. He was at the counter, right behind Hotch." She turned toward the man in question. "Do you remember him?"

"Medium height, soft build, but not fat. Not remarkable, at all. Hair was thinning slightly. Eyes were non-descript, watery. Allergies, maybe. Glasses, not stylish but not ridiculous, either. Around forty, forty-five, maybe." Hotch paused, remembering. "I asked you if you wanted anything before you'd went to the restroom."

"And I told you chocolate. Reese's." Emily's eyes narrowed. "But I don't remember seeing him then."

"He must have been behind the shelves." Hotch said. "I laughed, said 'of course' or something like that. We were out of the store less than five minutes after that."

"He must have followed you." Amecci said, grimly. "So how do we identify this guy?"

"We go to Indianapolis. JJ—you'll go directly to the Indianapolis field office, contact Garcia, liaise with the Indianapolis agents. Morgan, Prentiss, and Coombs—you'll go to the campus, IUPUI, and get information on the names Garcia found. Reid, Amecci, you and I will go back to that convenience store, get the tapes. Then compare with any photos Garcia can find. Emily—keep your eyes open at all times. And go nowhere alone. Nowhere. I'll do the same."

"One question." Coombs said. "If this guy isn't dark-haired and dark-eyes, clean-cut, and reserved, why is he targeting men who are?"

"Because they made him angry!" Reid said, excitedly. "Most likely a relationship ended—maybe she chose another man. One who was tall, dark-haired, and darker-eyed."

"Someone more reserved in manner." Emily's eyes narrowed as she thought, trained on Hotch's face. "Someone the UNSUB—and most stalkers are emotionally unstable—felt was lacking in the appropriate types of emotion. Someone whom the UNSUB couldn't rail against or retaliate. Maybe someone he worked for?"

"Someone they both worked with." Hotch said. "It would explain why all the victims were partners."

"And why he chooses successful women." Morgan said, eying Emily. "I'd say the woman left for a man of a higher position."

"And the UNSUB believed she left to further her career. So he blamed the man and the career." Emily said, on a sigh. "So he targets the men, men who work closely with their partners, by taking the women."

"So the male victim will suffer." Hotch said. "And he goes back to check on the male victims just to ensure they're still suffering."

"The way he is still suffering. So why always at the end of the term?" Reid asked.

"Because that's when she left him, most likely." Morgan thought aloud. "I bet she left with his boss, and he's reenacting his suffering at the end of each term."

"But why chocolate?" JJ asked.

"That's something we'll have to wait to find out from this son-of-a-bitch." Hotch said, grimly. "JJ—have the jet ready, wheels up in an hour."

"Yes, sir." JJ said, as everyone rose. As Hotch moved to stand beside Emily. As she heard him ask the older woman if she was ok. As she watched his hand wrap around her friend's elbow and pull her slightly from the rest of the group.

The change in Hotch's attitude toward Emily was more than noticeable, now. And JJ had only one thought—Wow.

INTERIM TWELVE

Anger is a killing thing: it kills the man who angers, for each rage leaves him less than he had been before - it takes something from him.
Louis L'Amour

The flight to Indianapolis was thankfully short. Emily settled into the seat between Tony and Hotch, her laptop spread open on her lap. Garcia had IM'd her, telling her be waiting for the requested information.

Emily knew some of that information would contain the name and address of the UNSUB responsible for the sixteen disappearances—possibly twenty-one. The UNSUB who was watching her and Hotch.

Planning to take her wherever he had taken the other dark-haired, dark-eyed women. Do with her whatever he'd done with them. And they didn't know what he'd done with them. Where he'd left their bodies. Emily had no hope that they were still alive, not after all this time. Years of experience told her that.

But she did have a glimmer of hope that they could give Emma Miller's mother the answers she deserved.

As soon as Garcia gave them the list of names.

"My dear Wonder woman, I have cross-referenced all three cities, and time references, and found three names—with accompanying driver's license photos. I am sending them to your handhelds now. As well as uploading to this lovely little screen. I am so glad you let me tweak your laptop, it's so interesting in here. I particularly love that one video, beautiful song. Got to love YouTube. I have also found the five missing missing—just like you all thought. I'm sending the information to your handhelds as we speak." Garcia took a deep breath before continuing. "I also found their ID badges for the campus. I took the liberty of uploading them, and you should see the images about now. Anyone ring a bell, Emily the Strange and Great?"

Emily looked at the three pictures on her screen, and pointed to the one on the far left. "That's him. Hotch?"

"That's the guy." Hotch's hand unconsciously covered hers, squeezed lightly, though he didn't look at her. It didn't matter, the gesture did exactly what he had intended.

Let her know he understood the little leap her heart had taken, even though she was a trained agent. Understood how it had disconcerted her to realize she had been that close to a serial killer—who had potentially targeted her. Let her know she could count on him.

Her hand turned palm-up before she even realized she'd done it, and her fingers laced with his. She left them there for a second, but only a second, before she pulled her hand back.

He smiled inwardly, glad she'd wordlessly accepted his offer of comfort. A week ago, she'd have jerked her hand back as if she'd been burned.

What a difference time can make.

Hotch wasn't entirely comfortable with Emily doing the campus interviews with just Morgan and Coombs, so he decided to accompany them. He sent Reid and Coombs back to the convenience store, with instructions to return to the Indy field office as quickly as possible.

He drove, with Emily in the passenger seat beside him. She hadn't said much since arriving at the airport, but he didn't badger her. They all handled the stress of the job in their own ways, and he knew—from her own confession—that she worked better if she could compartmentalize. So he left her to do just that.

Still, when they entered the brick building Garcia had listed as the place of employment for their UNSUB, he made doubly sure to be at her side. Just in case.

His cell rang just as they were about to reach the elevator and the entire group paused while he answered it. "Hey, Garcia."

Emily moved in closer to him, so she could hear the blonde's voice through the phone. Hotch solved the dilemma by clicking the phone onto speaker, after making sure no one else was close enough to overhear.

"Wicked find, boss man. Seems the UNSUB—Adrian Templeton–was adopted at the ripe old age of twelve by an aunt and uncle. His fraternal twin brother went to another relative. Seems their mother abandoned them in 1975. No one is really sure what happened to her. Just that the boys supposedly got home from school and she was gone. No traces of her were ever found—which was odd because her family insisted she'd never have left the children behind. But here's the kicker—Adrian Templeton used to be Adrian Preatt. Thought you might recognize the name. Garcia over and out."

"Wow." Emily said, borrowing one of JJ's expressions, "I didn't see that one coming."

"Still, it explains a lot. The similar typologies, preferences for taller women. Why the prison guard from Preatt's prison was one of the victims—she lived with her supervisor. Why we thought he knew something." Hotch said, as he pushed the button for the fourth floor of the building. "Morgan, you and Amecci cover the back and check Templeton's office. Prentiss and I will take the main hall. Everyone, keep an eye out."

"Hotch—do you really think you and Emily should go together? I mean, if he sees you it could be a major trigger." Morgan asked.

"He has a point." Emily said. "We don't know what seeing one of us will do to him, but seeing us both…this building is filled with students, kids."

"Prentiss, you go with Morgan, then. But I want radio contact maintained, understand?" Hotch wasn't too thrilled with the arrangement but he knew they were right.

But it was hard to fight the primitive man inside him screaming at him to keep her as safe as possible, to not let her anywhere near Adrian Templeton. That told him he was a fool for even letting her in the building.

He'd have to train that caveman to understand that she was a capable agent first, and not just the woman he wanted.

Today was as good as any a day to start.

Morgan saw him first. Adrian Templeton was walking casually down the long hallway that led to the bank of offices where the Criminology professor held his own appointments.

He'd studied the behavior of criminals, so he knew enough to cover his own tracks. And that's why his bodies—unlike his brother's—had never been found.

But they would be.

Morgan quickly called Hotch on the radio, asking for instructions, getting a watch and wait order. He made sure Prentiss was armed and ready, though his hovering hadn't been necessary. He had no qualms about her capabilities. She wasn't like Elle, she didn't panic when threatened. And that's what made her a kick-ass agent.

BAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAU

Hotch and Amecci took the back stairs, adrenalin helping them move quickly. They both knew this was the son-of-a-bitch who wanted nothing more than to take Emily away from them all. And neither man was going to let that happen.

To Tony Amecci, all teasing aside, Emily Prentiss was the closest to family the former foster kid had ever had—her and the rest of the team the Chicago office had dubbed St. Michaels' Demons, after Unit Chief Michaels, and the fearless, somewhat reckless seven-member team. And Tony protected his family no matter what.

BAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAU

Morgan waited until he saw the top of Hotch and Amecci's heads before calling out. "Adrian Templeton, This is the FBI! I need you to come out of that office now. Put your hands where I can see them and walk slowly. Right now!"

Emily had cleared the halls of any passing students or faculty, and she stood behind Tony near the south stairwell. Templeton had nowhere to go—and his office didn't have a window. Hotch covered the other exit, and they all knew the man would be trapped between them, the instant he followed Morgan's edict.

It would be over. And they'd begin the process of answering so many questions. Sometimes, the arrest was almost anti-climatic. They found the guy, arrested the guy and it was over. Sometimes it was a chase, adrenalin filled, and chaotic.

Sometimes it was just draining.

Adrian Templeton followed orders exactly. He walked slowly forward, hands raised in the air until he was even with Morgan. Amecci moved in to help secure the man. And it was over. Just over.

He didn't look like the monster she knew him to be. But he did look enough like his twin brother to give her the creeps. Both brothers had turned out to be serial killers. Both. And people debated the biological component of criminality. The Preatt/Tempelton brothers were a not-so-sterling example of how biology was a factor.

Morgan read him his rights, and the man didn't even look up. Just nodded, said he understood, kept denying he'd done anything wrong. Never looked toward either stairwell where the two dark-haired, dark-eyed agents covered the arrest. Prevented gawkers from getting too close. He never even saw them, never registered their presence.

It was disconcerting in a way Emily couldn't explain. This was the monster responsible for at least twenty-one families' suffering. The Millers, the Jenkins, the Powers, the Carters, and Eddings—all those families hurt by this one, little man. It was almost unfathomable.

Morgan and Amecci led him out of the building while Emily and Hotch moved in to search the man's office. The warrant they had outlined a search of both place of employment and home. Reid and Coombs were already on their way to his south Indy apartment.

Hopefully, they'd find some explanations as to what happened to those twenty-one women. Then it was back to the Chicago office, where Templeton would be booked and officially charged by the state of Illinois for his crime.

If they found enough to hold him, that is. Emily and Hotch both knew what they had was pretty flimsy.

They had no concrete evidence, nothing but the fact that he was in the right place at the right time. No proof he'd done anything wrong. In fact, if they'd not gotten a very lenient judge, they'd probably not even have an arrest warrant.

If his office didn't yield anything, and Reid didn't find anything—they could only hold him for seventy-two hours. And then he was back on the streets, free to harm as many women as he could before they stopped him.

It was Emily who first spotted the aluminum ball bat, resting between the shelf and the wall. "Hotch."

"What?" Hotch moved in and pulled the bat from the corner. "Dark blue paint."

"Just like our SUV." Emily, hoping the paint would match and they could hold him on the vandalism charges, if nothing else.

"We need more." He said, beginning to rifle the desk drawers.

It took them fourteen more minutes before Emily found something. A Minolta SLR 35 mm camera. The same make and model that Emma Miller had favored. The same make and model that had disappeared the day she had.

She flipped the body over and found exactly what she'd expected to see. Carved into the bottom were the initial EM. Emma Miller, or Em as her family had called her.

Proof positive that Adrian Templeton had been with Emma Miller the day she disappeared.

"We got the bastard." Emily said, satisfied. "Emma Miller's Minolta. Initials right where her mother said they would be."

"Let's get back to the field office." Hotch said, taking the camera from her. "I have several questions for that son-of-a-bitch."

"So do I." Emily said grimly. "Do you think we'll ever find the bodies, Hotch?"

"I don't know." Hotch admitted, mind flashing to twenty-one dark haired women who were being missed because of Adrian Templeton. Lover, family, friends, colleagues—it was always those left behind to suffer that touched Hotch the most. He didn't have much in this world, just Jack and Sean, Dave and the team—the woman beside him, but he knew it would devastate him to be the one left behind.

"That's the worst part," Emily said, softly, as they moved down the stairwell. They had one more person to talk to—the dean of the criminology department, Martin Eubanks. Adrian Templeton's boss. "The not knowing. Never getting answers."

"But at least with an arrest, there is the opportunity for some kind of closure."

"But is there?" Emily asked rhetorically, pushing the button for the elevator. "And is the unknowing ever better than the knowing? We've seen some seriously disturbed things, should the victim's families long for that?"

"I know it's never perfect. But at least we can tell them what we know." Hotch said, moving to rest one hand on her lower back as they exited the elevator. "Give them that."

"Hmm. Is it enough, I wonder?"

"Don't. You'll drive yourself insane always wondering." Hotch told her bluntly, moving his hand from her back to wrap around her upper arm. "I know this one has been hard for you. For both of us."

"So? We all have cases that get to us a little more than others." She defended, warily. "What about it?"

"I just want you to know that you don't have to hide how you're feeling all the time. I'm here if you ever want to talk." Hotch said, bluntly. "I known I've not exactly made it easy in the past. But I am trying to change that."

"I know." Emily reassured him, moving closer as they walked down the hall to the dean's office.

"Good." Hotch said, as he approached the dean's receptionist. She was a pretty woman, and he mentally cataloged the long fall of straight chocolate brown hair, and her wide dark eyes. "Hello, I'm SSA Hotchner, and this is SSA Prentiss, we're with the FBI, and we need to speak to Dean Sanders."

"It'll just be a moment." The woman said, a nervous look in her eyes. "He's stepped out to the restroom. It'll only be a second. Can I…uh…get you a cup of coffee?"

"No, thanks. We just have few questions for him about one of the lecturers in his department." Hotch said, reassuringly.

Before anything else could be said, Emily and Hotch felt someone approaching them from behind. Both spun around, seeing the man behind them.

It was like looking at Hotch's fraternal twin—if he'd had one. Less than an inch difference in height separated the two men, they had highly similar hair cuts, and their coloring was almost dead on. Even the suits were of the same cut, one charcoal gray, and the other a lighter heather gray. Emily's one thought was that this was the guy Templeton was truly raging against. This was the guy Templeton was punishing each and every time he took and killed one of those twenty-one women.

(Ok, so it took a WEE bit longer than I expected to finish this one…)

INTERIM THIRTEEN

Peter S. Beagle wrote:

"Heroes know that things must happen when it is time for them to happen. A quest may not simply be abandoned; unicorns may go unrescued for a long time, but not forever; a happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story."

Adrian Templeton was the sneeziest man Emily had ever seen. She watched him from behind the interrogation glass at the Indianapolis field office, and wondered if they should grab a spare box of tissues. His eyes were watery, washed with an allergic haze, as Morgan and Coombs—the two men who didn't fit the victimology—prepped him for the final part of the interrogation. The part when Emily and Hotch took over. The part where they attempted to jar a reaction out of him.

Where they hoped to get more out of him then they had after two hours of interrogation work. At least the location of the bodies. Emily knew the families deserved that much.

Hotch stood beside her, watching the proceedings silently. His shoulder touched hers, a strangely reassuring warmth. When had she come to depend on the one man she'd always been wary of?

"So how are we going to do this?" Emily asked.

"I'm going in." Hotch said, "Make it clear I'm the superior agent, start questioning him. Twenty minutes in, I want you in. By my side, with this." He wagged a bright orange package in front of her face.

"You want to try to trigger the rage." Emily stated. "What do you think will happen?"

"I don't know, but I'm ready to find out." Hotch said, eyes running over her face, checking for signs of her mental processes. "You ok with this?"

"Yes." Emily said, resolutely. She reached a hand out, taking the chocolate from him. Her fingers grazed his, and he reached out quickly, trapping her smaller hand.

"This is almost over." He said, squeezing her hand around the chocolate. "When we're done, we'll all fly back to Chicago, tie up any loose ends, then all of us will head to Spinelli's one last time."

"I'm going to hold you to that." Emily smiled. "Otherwise we'll have one very disappointed media liaison. She's been going on and on about the spaghetti. And garlic bread. I've noticed she seems to want garlic bread a lot."

He actually smiled a half-smile at her, though—in truth—he was worried about the upcoming interrogation. He'd never really worried about having her that close to UNSUBS before. Had never thought he'd have to, or had the right. It was her job.

But now he was sending her into a man who had targeted her. Deliberately. Hoping to incite a reaction. Willingly putting the woman he wanted into potential danger.

What did that say about him?

Still, if he had any hope of gaining her interest, of changing the dynamics of their relationship he had to prove long before he made a move in that direction that he trusted her as a member of the team first. The whole success of his plans depended on her trusting him as much as he wanted her to know he trusted her.

"Ready?" He asked.

"Ready." Emily replied, shoulders squared and chin resolute. "Let's break this bastard and get the hell out of Indy."

Hotch nodded, squeezed her elbow once more before turning to go. He fought the urge to turn around and tell her not to worry about it, that he didn't want her going near Templeton, but he didn't. He just continued on, opening both sets of doors and entered the interrogation room.

Templeton looked up, face sullen and morose. Almost pouting. His lips lifted in an unconscious snarl when he recognized Hotch. "Where is she?"

"I'll be the one asking the questions, Mr. Templeton." Hotch said, calmly. He didn't look toward the interrogation room window. Didn't betray Emily's presence. "We have a few questions for you, starting with this."

He laid out the chemical analysis of the blue paint found on the ball bat. "It matches the paint of the SUV I was driving."

"So? A lot of SUV's are blue."

"And this camera?" He showed him the pictures of Emma Miller's camera. "And this necklace? This PDA? All these possessions have been positively identified as belonging to these women."

Emily watched as Hotch skillfully led the man around to a position that was favorable for a confession. She had to admit, the man was one hell of an interrogator. He gave the signal for her to enter and she did.

No one in the room missed the way Templeton's attention focused on her and stayed on her. Then she smacked the package of chocolate on the table between them. "Thank you, Hotch."

"No problem, Emily. I know you love chocolate." Hotch smiled then, an expression so predatory that Emily fought the natural inclination to backup. The man could be so coldly lethal.

Templeton's breathing increased as Emily opened the package. Then in a calculated move, she offered the UNSUB the other piece of chocolate and peanut butter candy.

"You bitch! You know I'm allergic to chocolate! You know!" He suddenly screamed, jumping from the chair. The wrist manacle chained to the table prevented him from reaching her, but Hotch had instinctively placed his body in front of hers. Tony Amecci had been a few milliseconds behind Hotch, and Derek had echoed the movement from the other side.

Emily couldn't even see Templeton from her position behind three large male agent bodies. Soon Hotch and Derek had Templeton wrestled back down, and Hotch was ordering Emily out of interrogation. They'd take it the rest of the way, and she'd watch for body language tells through the window.

It was one of her strengths, that and listening to nuances behind speech. She was one hell of a linguist, and she knew it. She could pinpoint a man's region in the Middle East through the most subtle of word choices.

A man like Adrian Templeton was no challenge at all.

She buzzed Hotch on the mic he wore. "He's lying when asked about his uncle's farm, Hotch."

She watched and listened as Hotch led Templeton around to the topic of his uncle's farm once again.

It took two hours for them to pry the truth out of him. Another two for the warrant to go through. And yet another hour for them to make the drive to the southern Indiana town where the bodies were said to have been hidden.

Twenty-two bodies were found, buried in shallow graves surrounding the barn. Emily wanted to sit down and bawl. Twenty-two families who would never see their loved ones again, all because Templeton couldn't handle a normal rejection.

Hotch watched her face as yet another body was pulled from the ground. How did she do it? How did she keep her face so perfectly composed when her eyes held such turmoil?

Why hadn't he ever noticed? "Emily? You ok?"

She looked at him, seemingly startled at finding him there. "Will it ever make sense, I wonder?"

"People like Templeton?" Hotch asked, moving a little closer. "I don't know."

"He raged against so many people. Simply because she left him."

"Losing someone can be a powerful motivator." Hotch said, thinking of the changes he'd tried to implement in his life since Hayley had left. Changes he probably should have made long before his wife had ever considered leaving.

"Yes."

"It's in how you deal with it that makes a difference. People like Templeton function on a lower level than we do."

"Do you really believe that? He was a successful professor, had a good life, could have met someone else and went on, yet instead he chose to murder women to make those who loved them pay. Wouldn't that be considered inherently evil?" And yet he'd hated dark-haired men who bought their dark-haired partners chocolate. Because his girlfriend had left him for a dark-haired man. Who'd bought her chocolate. Templeton had tasted it on her lips when he'd tried to kiss her and he'd known. Or so he'd said. Chocolate as an indicator of what he'd seen as adultery. After all, Templeton had said—you wouldn't eat the thing that could kill your lover unless you planned to kill him. It had triggered rage, and the urge to kill. But he'd valued his position as a professor, so he'd killed others who reminded him of them.

It still didn't make sense to Emily. She almost doubted that it ever would.

"Define evil." Hotch said, grabbing her elbow in as strong a show of affection and support that he felt he could make while surrounded by agents and local LEOs. Even the local television station was represented.

"Templeton. Hinkle. Frank." Emily started. "Hardwick. Joseph Smith."

"Was Smith evil or sick? Or do they all suffer from some sickness?" Hotch asked. "We can't dwell on it, Emily, or it will drive us insane."

Emily knocked on the door to the little bungalow. Hotch watched from the Bureau SUV as Emma Miller's mother answered the door.

He'd understood that she felt she had to do this—hadn't he made a special effort to visit Addie's son after he'd been killed?

They all had cases that just got to them, why should Emily be any different?

The women spoke for several minutes before moving back to the same porch swing. Jolene Miller cried, hugged Emily and returned inside. But Emily didn't move to the SUV and Hotch went on high alert.

The older woman returned and handed Emily a small black bag. Emily shook her head, tried to refuse. But the woman was insistent, and Emily accepted graciously. Hotch wondered was in that bag. The front door opened again, and Hotch saw Steven Lucas, Emma Miller's lover, step out on to the porch.

The man paused when he realized it was Emily. His body tensed, and Hotch felt his echo the man's action. The photographer moved closer to Emily, touched her arm, said something.

Emily tensed her shoulders, the only sign that Hotch could see that she was uneasy. He opened the SUV door. Took him less than five seconds to reach Emily's side. "Agent Prentiss? We really need to be going, the jet leaves in an hour."

"Of course. Mrs. Miller, thank you." Emily turned toward the older woman and smiled.

Hotch watched Jolene Miller return the expression, though hers was touched by the sadness that only a grieving parent could exhibit.

Steven Lucas said nothing as Hotch and Emily shook his hand politely. He just stared at them, the grief for his Emma still fresh in his brown eyes.

Hotch felt for him. Knowing you couldn't protect the ones you loved was a horrible feeling. Hotch's whole being was dedicated to making the world safer for Jack and for the others that he cared about. But he wasn't stupid, he knew it wasn't enough, would never truly be enough.

But that didn't stop him from trying.

The SUV ride to the Indianapolis Airport was made in soft conversation and long silences.

"What did she give you?" Hotch finally asked, motioning to the bag at Emily's feet. He'd yet to see her unzip it.

"One of Emma Miller's favorite cameras. Said that her daughter would have wanted it to be used and appreciated." Emily's words were soft as she watched out the window as the sped down I-465. "I tried to refuse."

"It probably gave Jolene some comfort to imagine you using it. You love photography just like her daughter."

"And I look like she did." Emily turned to face him more fully.

"Yes." And she had. Emma Miller had bore an extremely strong resemblance to Emily in some of the photographs Hotch had seen. Same shaped eyes, same coloring. Emma Miller was slightly shorter, and just a little curvier. But the face, the face was very similar to Emily's. It had been hard for Hotch to look at those photographs. He could only imagine how difficult it had been for Emily. "We got the bastard, Em."

He'd unconsciously used the same nickname Emma Miller's family had used for her, and he became aware of it at the same time she did. Emily paused before speaking. "Will it ever truly be over for them?"

"Nothing ever is. I know it's never perfect. But it's the best we can do."

"I guess that's all anyone can ask of us, isn't it?" She lifted the black bag from the floor board and unzipped it carefully.

Inside was a nice Canon SLR camera. Pricy, but well-worn. Well-loved. Emily pulled it out, and Hotch saw her run her fingers over the E and M carved into the bottom.

"We did good on this one, Emily. He won't ever hurt anyone else ever again." Hotch tried one last time at reassurance.

"There's still film in this camera." Emily stated. "Looks like she kept it ready always. Film's probably still good."

"Are you going to use up the roll?"

"Yes, I think I will. Then I'll develop it. See what pictures she had taken with this camera." Templeton had taken several shots of Emma Miller's dead body with the Minolta they'd found. A perpetual reminder of his actions though he'd never developed them. "Hopefully, hopefully, there will be some butterflies."

"Butterflies are beautiful." Hotch stated in his usually flat Hotch voice. "Just ask JJ."

"They certainly are." Emily pointed the camera at him, setting the shutter speed. "Smile, Hotch. Just once. I promise it won't hurt."

He smiled.

***

ROSSI'S NIGHTMARE

AFTER INTERIM

Unfortunately, the balance of nature decrees that a super-abundance of dreams is paid for by a growing potential for nightmares.

Peter Ustinov

Emily carefully opened the door to Dave's hospital room, not wanting to disturb him if he was sleeping. He probably was, it was near midnight and he had to have had a hard day.

Still, she'd needed to come and see him—just to make sure he was ok, alive. To have something to focus on besides the whole Adrian Templeton arrest. Had that only been twelve hours ago?

Dave was asleep and she almost turned back, almost. The sight of the man sitting staring at the sleeping profiler made up her mind for her. "Steven. How is he?"

"He's fine, now. Still no infection, thank God. He, uh, had a nightmare." Steven wouldn't admit how much it had upset him to see his brother in such pain—and it wasn't physical. "It's kind of late for you to be here, isn't it?"

"Just got back from a case." Emily said, to the man she'd went on a few dates with. She'd enjoyed herself, liked him. He was so uncomplicated. Now she wasn't so sure how she felt about him. How she felt about anything. Her, him—Hotch.

"Oh. Did it go well?" Steven asked, a bit disconcerted. He really liked the woman in front of him, but when he'd stopped to think about the job she did—the same job that had landed his brother in that hospital bed-he wasn't so sure.

"Not really," Emily said, "But we eventually got the guy."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" What else could he say? He didn't want to ask about whatever monster it had been. Did not want to know.

Emily felt the awkwardness, and it didn't require any of her profiling skills to determine what was behind it. It had happened to her before, when the reality of her job set in with the men she'd been interested in. "Yes, that's all that matters. I enjoyed the book. It was a pleasant surprise. And the lily was a nice touch."

"I saw it and I thought of you." Steven said, standing and looking at her. She really was a beautiful woman, and he'd be rather stupid not to go for it. He took a step toward her, to do what-he wasn't sure.

She must have realized he'd moved, for she quickly stepped back, closer to Dave's bed. Reached down to pat the older man's hand. She gasped when the hand turned up and grabbed hers.

When Dave began to moan.

"He's doing it again!" Steven said, hurriedly rushing to the other side.

"Nightmare!" Emily quickly sized up the situation. "Dave. It's alright. You're safe here. Wake up. It's Emily, Dave, and I need you to wake up."

"Emily?" The man rasped. "Why are you here—you're supposed to be with Hotch. Hotch needs you."

"Hotch went home, Dave." Emily said, as his brown eyes opened. As he looked at her confused.

"I can still hear the kids screaming, Emily. I have to help them."

"We did help them, Dave. Remember—I cuffed the man myself. Joey, his name was Joey. Remember? You and I—we ran through the park. We got him, Dave. You can rest assured it's over." Emily spoke in a firm tone, focused on Dave. But she didn't miss the way his brother pulled back from the intensity of the emotional drama. Pulled back from her.

She wasn't too upset about it. Not now, anyway. She was too churned up inside because of the last case, the way Hotch had changed, and her own feelings of confusion, to worry about a man who apparently couldn't handle her job.

And it's not like they'd done anything. They'd only had a lunch date and one dinner date. Nothing major, nothing serious.

But still, it made for an awkward moment. She continued to sooth her colleague until he fell back to sleep. "He should be ok, now. Just remind him that it's over, if he wakes up again."

"I, uh, will." Steven moved around the bed, blocked her exit from the room. "I really enjoyed being with you, Emily."

"I enjoyed it, too." Emily said. "But we both know it wasn't anything serious, right?"

"Of course. I live in Philadelphia and you live here." Steven backtracked, wondering if he was that transparent.

"Right. And you can rest assured I'll be here for Dave, if he needs it. Even if he won't admit it." Emily tried to move around him, just a little. He subtly blocked her path. "I really need to be going. Tomorrow comes early at the BAU."

"Yes, the BAU." Steven said, almost resentfully. "Emily, before you go. I just need to do one thing."

"Yes?" She asked, growing slightly uncomfortable with his hands wrapped around her arms. Still, she wasn't completely defenseless—if the need arose. "What is it?"

"I hope you don't think me too pushy, but…" His words trailed off as his head lowered. As his lips pressed against hers lightly. Pressed deeper when she didn't resist. He released her arms, slid his hands around her waist and pulled her closer to him.

She could smell his aftershave, a faint piney scent that was pleasant. He tasted like coffee and peppermint candies as he deepened the kiss even further. She kissed him further, just to see. All in all, Emily didn't really mind—but it was nothing earth-shattering.

And for a woman like Emily Prentiss it would have to be. She wanted a man who could make her burn, make her tremble. Make her feel vulnerable and defenseless against him and the passion he'd ignite. Make her feel wanted, needed, treasured—even hunted.

Someone who'd understand the darkness she hid within, because they had the darkness in them, as well.

Unfortunately, Steven Rossi was not that man. And they both knew it.

He released her, pulled back, looked down into her face. "Would you like to have dinner tomorrow evening before I head home? Just as friends, nothing more?"

"I'd like that, Steven. I really would." Emily said, and knew she wasn't lying. Steven was a good guy, smart, funny, intelligent, with whom she could have scintillating conversation with about non-serial killer things, and she'd hate to lose him as a friend, because he couldn't handle her job. "Tomorrow at seven?"

"Seven, it is."

"Good. I'm looking forward to it."

HAUNTED HOTEL

EARLY JUNE 2008

DURING INTERIM

Emily was the ghost that haunted every hotel, Derek thought as the soft knock rapped against his door. It didn't surprise him—she'd done it ever since she'd joined the BAU when cases got to be too much for her. She'd shared her secret with him after they'd arrested Buford and he'd been angry at the entire team for the simple fact that they knew.

When he'd found out that she was wondering the hotels alone, most likely barefooted, late at night in strange cities—he'd hit the roof. She had to know that wasn't safe, that anything could happen to her. That travelers were extra vulnerable—especially those females who hunted serial killers.

So they'd worked out a system. She'd knock on his door twice as she passed. He was a light sleeper and always woke up. If three knocks hadn't sounded within an hour after the first two—he'd get up and go looking for her.

She'd also been cautioned to stay within the hotel lobbies. She was never to step outside the hotel. Never.

Sometimes, they just sat and talked, others—they just sat. Sometimes he held her while she cried. Sometimes she listened while he ranted about the world in general.

Sometimes just being with someone who didn't judge you, and didn't expect anything from you was all it took to make it better.

Derek wondered if Hotch realized that. The man had shut down in the five days or so since Rossi'd been hurt. Pulled back from the entire team, stood watching them with inscrutable eyes.

Stood watching Emily.

Derek wondered briefly if she'd noticed. Should he tell her? Or let her figure it out on her own? It was probably best not to say anything—just in case nothing came of it.

Morgan looked at clock, making note of the time. She had forty minutes to knock or he was going after her. It's what friends did, looking after each other.

"Morgan? What was that?" Reid asked, voice sleep husky, from the next bed, "Emily up haunting again?"

"Yeah man, go back to sleep. I'll stay up until she's back." Derek said. "She shouldn't be up too much longer."

"Why does she do it?" Reid asked, "Wander the halls?"

"Restless." Derek said, "Some cases just hit her hard. You know what it's like."

"Why tonight?"

"Come on man, sixteen women in their twenties and thirties, and all brunettes. You should know what she was seeing." Derek chided. "It sucks, man, the way it's almost always women who are the victims—especially of sexualized violent crimes. It just is."

"Ten times more likely to be a woman than a man." Spencer added. "But Emily never lets it get to her."

"Emily compartmentalizes." Derek contradicted. "The only time it has to escape is when she's asleep."

"So she doesn't sleep." Reid said, sighing. He understood ghosts. He had plenty of his own.

"She doesn't sleep." Derek said. "When she does, she fights the nightmares with everything she has."

"So she kicks, and twists." Spencer said, mind replaying images of his friend sleeping on the plane. He'd just always thought she was one of those restless sleeper types. Never stopped to think that the woman he considered to be invulnerable was battling demons right before his eyes.

"And fights ghosts with every fiber of her being. But sometimes, the ghosts win."

"So she haunts the hotels, while the ghosts are haunting her."

"Exactly." Derek finished, as a quick succession of knocks sounded on the door, signaling that the battle was won—at least for tonight.

Derek Morgan relaxed. Emily Prentiss would sleep now, and leave the haunting of the hotel to another night—or another spirit.

HOTCH'S DARK EYED OBSESSION

JUNE 2008

Hotch lay in his hotel room, alone and isolated. He looked at the room's second bed and thought briefly about the man who would have been occupying it. It had only been ten days since Rossi's SUV had exploded, but the man had a hopeful prognosis.

That wasn't why Aaron Hotchner lay awake at three a.m.

Dreams were what was keeping him awake. He'd had the most erotic, most sexually-fulfilling dream of his life. And it didn't feature his ex-wife for even a second.

No, all he could remember was dark eyes staring up at him, skin so soft and sweet smelling, lips as ripe as the strawberries he thought of whenever he stepped close enough to touch her, to smell her—to breathe her.

No, Aaron Hotchner hadn't dreamt of his ex-wife, or of the woman who looked much like her.

He'd had a flaming hot wet dream about his subordinate. A dream so hot his mattress was soaking wet from his sweat and he was seriously contemplating taking a very early shower—a cold shower—before crashing on the other, fresh mattress.

His body still trembled from the dream, from the things he'd done to her, from the things she'd done to him.

Things he'd never even thought to try in his fifteen years of marriage to the prim and proper Hayley. Things he'd never wanted to. But now all he could think about was doing those things with the dark-haired, dark-eyed, sweet scented agent lying in the next hotel room.

He wondered briefly what she was dreaming about. He wondered even longer on what she might be wearing. Wondered how it would be to wake up and find her in his hotel room instead of the one she was sharing with JJ.

Wondered what he would do first. What she would let him do first. Would he kiss first? Drop quick little caresses on her lips, her cheeks, her neck? She wasn't entirely comfortable with herself—or him, he'd noticed that often, so he'd have to get her to relax. Maybe by stroking her like a cat, one hand lazily running up her arm, down her back, over her ass and around her hip. Then back up again.

Maybe she'd like something a little swifter. Maybe he'd tangle one hand in the dark hair she'd taken to curling more often. He loved the curls. Maybe tilt her head back so he could look down into those dark eyes, as he pulled her body tightly to his. Maybe he'd bend down and run his tongue over the smooth skin of her neck, see what that part of her smelled like. Would she smell like strawberries there? Or warm vanilla cream?

Maybe she'd be wearing that red tank top she favored. He favored it, too. The way it fit her so closely, the way it left all that milk smooth skin exposed. The way he could watch the smooth muscles of her arms as they worked. The woman certainly was fit, and he knew she'd fit against him perfectly. Curve in all the right places.

His body was tensing and he struggled to compose himself. He—who never lost control, who'd mastered the art of showing no emotion as a young boy helpless beneath his father's belt—struggled to get inappropriate thoughts out of his mind. It was almost unbelievable.

But this wasn't the first night he'd obsessed over Emily Prentiss long into the night. It was the fourteenth to be exact.

Three days before Rossi'd been injured had found the team stuck in an empty hay barn for the night, and he'd ended up sleeping next to Emily.

Ended up waking with her held tight in his arms, her lithe body pressed tight against his, as she fought to escape the early dawn chill. Ended up feeling her every breath as it pressed her chest against his.

Rossi's words of a few days later brushed through Hotch's mind, "Do you know what I wouldn't give for a woman who actually understood what we did every day? And you've got one right there in front of you! One who's sexy, vibrant, compassionate, and loving—who is virtually crying out for a special kind of man."

She was sexy, vibrant, compassionate, and loving, and his body was crying out for her. It was almost as if he—the man who'd written the book on the subject—was forming an obsession.

For the dark-eyed woman he'd never wanted in the BAU to begin with.

THE STRAWBERRY LADY

JUNE 2008

Hotch had been dreaming about her for almost two weeks. Dreaming about having her under him, above him, in front of him. Just dreaming about having her.

It was slowly killing him.

Seeing her dressed in those ridiculously short shorts and that red tank top wasn't going to do much for his sanity today, either. Thank God he had a three-year old to distract him from her. Jack walked beside him, tugging impatiently on his hand. He wanted to do everything at the park. Play on the swings, fish for minnows in the little stream, just run and play like the wild child he was.

It meant everything to Hotch to see his son free to be as uncontained, as joyful, as he wanted. Unlike his own strict and sterile childhood. Had his parents ever brought him and Sean to the park? He didn't think so.

The first people Hotch had seen that he recognized were Penelope and Kevin. They were arguing slightly over the best ways to roast the hotdogs—grill or on sticks. Penelope and the grill were winning—which didn't surprise Hotch in the least.

He'd looked past them and nearly swallowed his tongue. Derek—the birthday boy—and the rest of the team, sans Reid, and Will were arranged in a semi-circle tossing a Frisbee casually.

He'd always loved that red tank top. And those short, short, short black shorts that showed off her long legs to perfection were the stuff fantasies were made of. Absolute perfection. She looked young, carefree, happy, and sexy as hell. And he wished for a moment that everyone in the damned park would just disappear—and leave him alone with her.

"Me pway?" Jack demanded, and Hotch looked down. The boy was staring at the Frisbee with unabashed glee. "Daddy, me pway, too?"

"Maybe in a little bit. Want to say hello first?"

"Kay." His thumb went close to his mouth and Hotch smiled, knowing the idea of meeting strange people was making him nervous. He was going through a shy stage typical of his age. Hotch wouldn't rush him.

Garcia saw Superman and little Boy Wonder when they were about six feet out. "Hey, boss man! Look at the little guy! Wow. Looks so much like you."

Jack's hair was a few shades lighter but with time, it would be as dark as his father's. And his eyes were already that deep fathomless dark brown. The smile was Hotch's, too.

"Hello, Garcia. This is Jack. He's a bit nervous today. Jack, this is Daddy's friend Penelope."

"Hello Jack-Jack, you can call me Pen." Penelope bent down and held out a hand solemnly for the little boy to shake. Jack reached up, dignified, and shook the hand—looking very much like a mini-Hotch.

The rest of the team moved in, the Frisbee battle over. Hotch made the introductions before asking, "Where's Spencer?"

"He was elected to pick up Dave from his cabin. Dave still can't drive yet." Emily answered. She was slightly sweaty, flushed, and her hair was curling wildly. It was hard for Hotch to look away. "They should be here shortly."

"Dave's brother isn't going to be able to make it?" Hotch asked, an unconscious bite in his tone at the mention of the good professor.

"No, he had a slight emergency with his twins. Had to head back to Philly." Emily answered, backing away slightly. Why did Hotch always seem to resent Steven? Steven was a nice guy, and though they'd recently decided that a relationship between them wouldn't work out in the long run—he needed a woman with a more traditional life, and she needed a man who understood the profiling life—they had vowed to remain friends. "Sent his regards to the rest of the team."

"That's right, you two had dinner again last night?" JJ asked, missing the way Hotch's eyes flared at her words. Everyone did—except Morgan who had a sneaking suspicion what Hotch's problem actually was.

"Umm—hmm." Emily nodded. Hotch was staring at her again, making her nervous. Always making her nervous.

"Daddy, me swing!" The little boy said, breaking into the conversation, and drawing his father's eyes away from the pretty lady in the red shirt. "There!"

Hotch followed the boy's finger and saw the brightly colored play equipment. "Alright, let's go!"

Hotch pushed his son for a few minutes before following him to the slides and the teeter-totters. When he returned, Reid and Rossi had arrived—the latter being comfortably arranged in the lawn chair Penelope had brought for that very purpose. His right arm was still bandaged and in a sling, and he appeared a little pale. But Hotch was never more relieved to see his friend alive and breathing. It had been too damned close.

Jack was getting fussy, hungry and over-excited. But thankfully, the grilled hotdogs were finished and Penelope was reigning over their disbursement. Soon Hotch had Jack a plate fixed with a hotdog and some potato chips and settled at the picnic table.

The little boy chose the seat right next to the pretty dark haired lady.

Hotch sat across from his son, where he could easily reach his plate to assist him, but still see the little boy's face. And hers. JJ and Will settled on Emily's other side and the two women laughed and talked, giggling.

Jack liked the lady's laugh. And she talked to him, not like he was a baby. And she had pretty eyes. Dark eyes like his and his Daddy's. Plus, she smelled like strawberry ice cream. Jack loved strawberry ice cream. His daddy liked strawberries, too. He ate his hotdog, and some of his chips, but he started to get sleepy. It was close to his nap time, and he just couldn't stay awake.

Emily felt the little head hit her arm softly and she looked down. Smiled sweetly at the little dark headed boy. "Oh! Hotch, I think it's naptime."

Her words were soft, drawing his attention from Reid's ramblings and he smiled. His son was sound asleep, leaning against Emily as if he'd known her his whole life. He stood and rounded the table, pulling the little boy into his arms. Penelope and Kevin had spread a blanket out by Dave and Hotch arranged the little boy near their feet. He'd be out for at least an hour. He smiled down at him, a soft smile that the team just wasn't used to seeing.

Emily'd known he had a son, but she'd never really given much thought to how Hotch would be with him. But seeing this tenderness really surprised her. It wasn't like the cold, severe man she'd worked with over the last year and a half. He really loved his son and she admired that.

It reiterated what they'd discussed in the hospital chapel. What did they really know about each other? Not much.

After they ate, Will and Derek began casually tossing a football back and forth—and after much convincing, Kevin joined in, while JJ, Penelope, and Emily started their own Frisbee game some great distance away. Just to give everyone enough space to play without tripping over each other.

Hotch stayed with Rossi and his son, keeping one eye on the sleeping toddler and another on his recuperating colleague. Reid sat near Rossi's feet, munching on sour cream potato chips, and watching the rest of the team's athletics. He'd been asked to join in with both groups—but he was too clumsy and didn't want to make a fool of himself.

Emily jumped, catching a toss that was a bit over her head. Her tall, trim, athletic body stretched, showing to great advantage. Her laughter rang out, floating over the distance to the three men sitting, and Hotch unconsciously smiled. He loved her laugh.

"Boys," Dave said, laughing softly, as he too watched the dark-haired woman. "We have poachers."

"What?" Reid asked around the chips in his mouth.

Dave motioned with his good hand toward a trio of men just past the three women. "Poachers."

"I don't get it. They're just tossing a football, like Morgan and the others." Reid watched the men, as they threw their ball. "Why does that make them poachers? What are they poaching?"

"Reid, you study human behavior, right?" Dave asked, as the little boy asleep near him began to stir. "Why, with all this big park would they choose to toss the ball near where our girls are playing? Poachers."

"What?"

"Watch. See the guy in the navy—the one closest to the girls?" Dave began. Hotch just watched. "His buddies will overthrow, in three, two, one…" The ball shot over the guy's head and landed not two feet from Emily. "Yep, looks like Emily's the target. And now the guys have their opening."

Hotch watched as she jerked in surprise, turning toward the trio of men. She'd obviously not even been aware they were near. The Frisbee game paused. Jack woke, wide awake and raring to go—just like Hotch always did. The boy was very much like his father.

"Target?" Reid asked, intrigued by the whole show. "Guys do that?"

"Reid, you're a guy. Are you telling me you wouldn't do that?" Rossi asked. "To get a girl like that?"

"Well, no. I'd talk to her." Reid said, shrugging.

"And how's that working out for you?" Rossi asked. "Watch. He'll walk over to her. Smile. Laugh, apologize."

Sure enough the guy did exactly as Rossi predicted.

"Now what?" Reid asked, getting excited at learning about a new aspect of human behavior. "What will he do now? What is he saying?"

"Casually flirting. Checking her out—and she looks good today." Rossi said. "Asking if he can make it up to her for disturbing her game with her friends. As his friends get closer, and Penelope and JJ step over to see what is going on."

"And this stuff works? I don't know, I don't see Emily falling for that." Reid said skeptically. "Or Pen and JJ."

"Maybe it'll work. Probably it won't. Our girl is smarter than that." Rossi said.

"Daddy, me pway with the st'berry lady." Jack insisted, seeing the pretty lady in the red shirt with the Frisbee. He was going to play with the lady, not that guy with the football! Him! Jack-Jack! "You pwomised!"

"Strawberry lady?" Rossi laughed, "He's pegged that one correctly."

"Come on. Daddy'll take you to her." Hotch stood determinedly, holding out a hand for his little boy.

Rossi and Reid watched the two Hotchners as they moved closer to the women. Watched as Hotch called Emily's name. Told her Jack wanted to play.

Watched as Derek and the other men paused to watch what was happening. Watched as Kevin and Will moved to stand beside Hotch. Watched as the little dark-haired, dark-eyed boy left his daddy to run to the pretty, dark-haired, dark-eyed lady. Who scooped him up and put him on her hip, like she'd done it a million times before.

"I don't get it." Reid said, as the three strange men backed up swiftly. The one nearest Emily holding his hands up in a shrug, looking toward Hotch. Almost a surrender. Watched as the little boy glared at the man holding the football. "What just happened?"

"Reid—Aaron and Jack just chased the poachers away."

"I get that, but how? And why so quickly? I mean, Kevin and Will didn't say anything. And what was the deal with Hotch and Jack? Why would Hotch chase them away from Emily? How did he do it without really saying anything? I don't get it."

"Look at that kid and look at Emily—anybody looking would think they were related, right?"

"I guess. They do have similar coloring. But so does Hotch." It began to make some sense to Reid. "They think Jack is Emily's andHotch's, don't they? So they think they're poaching."

"Looks like it." Rossi watched as Emily—holding the little boy—jumped to catch the Frisbee. As the three strange men moved further away—probably in search of other pretty ladies to charm. As the little boy laughed, drawing his daddy's attention from where he'd been casually tossing a football to Morgan. Drawing his daddy's attention to the pretty lady with a nice laugh.

Jack was having a good time—and he'd made those bad guys go away. The strawberry lady was his—and his Daddy's.

And now those guys knew it.

*** 

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