Previous part of The Lion and The Antelope.

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APOCALYPSE NOW

MID JUNE 2008

"So shall it be at the end of the world: the angels shall come forth, and sever the wicked from among the just, And shall cast them into the furnace of fire." (Revelations)

(Early May 2008)

Derek Morgan was no angel. Emily Prentiss knew that—but she didn't care, she went home with him anyway. It was the smile, the pleading look in the big brown eyes. So she did it.

And look what she got out of it. She looked at the pitiful creature in the passenger seat of her Roadster. "Don't you dare make a mess on my seat, hear me?"

He didn't answer. Not that she'd really expected one. How had she let herself be suckered into this? She wasn't quite sure.

How was she going to manage this—with her life, with her job?

She wasn't sure of that, either.

But she had to admit he was cute, in an ugly sort of way. "You know, beware of the man who works hard to learn something, learns it, and finds himself no wiser than before—Kurt Vonnegut said that. In my case, it's beware the woman who works hard—and finds herself no wiser than before. I study behavior, and I knew Morgan wanted something. Why else was he so insistent? And now look, I'm stuck with you."

She sighed when she got no response, just a blink of large green eyes. She'd never seen a cat take to riding in cars so well. But the big gold monster just curled into her seat, and acted as if he'd spent hours in a purring BMW every day.

"You'll need a name. Any suggestions?" She asked him, maneuvering the silver car through the busy Annandale evening traffic.

Morgan had looked so innocent when he'd asked her to give him a ride home. She'd thought he just wanted to take a spin in the car her father had bought her for her birthday.

Boy, did she learn her lesson. "How about naming you after Kurt? Do you like that?"

"Merow." He actually answered, and she took it as approval.

"Kurt it is. Kurt Morgan Prentiss, the big ugly cat." She said, pulling her car into the second space assigned to her unit. Her sedan sat right where she'd left it the night before.

She'd tried to tell her father she didn't need two cars, but she had to admit the Roadster gave her a bit of thrill. And he'd always bought her expensive presents, to make up for certain things. And who wouldn't want a silver and black BMW for her birthday? Even though she'd have to vacuum the cat hair out of it before she drove it again.

At least it was a weekend. She'd have a few days—provided the BAU didn't get called in on a case—to get Kurt settled in at her condo.

Get herself used to owning a cat.

1.5 MONTHS LATER (3 WKS AFTER THE SUV GOES BOOM—SOMETIME AROUND THE END OF JUNE)

Her cat owned her. And she was going to kill Derek Morgan, eventually. Or thank him. She hadn't made up her mind as she walked into the bullpen at nine o'clock on a Monday morning, nearly six weeks later. Officially she wasn't required to be there until the ten o'clock briefing, but she'd made a habit of arriving early since her assignment to the BAU a year and a half ago.

She'd known she was there on sufferance and she was more than determined to earn her place on this team. She knew she had, but a habit was hard to break. Even though Hotchner told her she was more than a welcome addition to the team, and she could relax, quit over-compensating. Since he'd told her she was part of the heart of the team.

Hotchner. She didn't know what to think about him anymore. He'd been less than welcoming to her from the very beginning. And when Aaron Hotchner gave you the cold shoulder, you felt the chill to the bone. The man had terrified the un-terrifiable. Had faced down the worst of serial killers. Had frozen her to the bone on more than one occasion.

But ever since Rossi's ordeal, Hotch had been running hotter than she'd ever thought she'd see him. And most of the burn was directed solely at her.

His eyes and his touch. His shoulder would graze hers as he walked by, his hand would linger when he handed her a file. He'd call her Emily. He'd smile, just at her. Not to mention the way he'd been in Chicago a few weeks ago.

It freaked her to her toes. Disconcerted her in a way she hadn't been since she'd been a young girl.

What the hell was he up to?

Hotch watched from his office as first Emily then Derek arrived and settled into their desks.

He envied Derek his easy conversation with Emily. The complete lack of tension between the two. The way they totally accepted each other. They exhibited the classic signs of close friendship, of trust, and companionship, and he longed for that—and more—with her.

He hadn't thought of Kate Joyner since the night Rossi had been injured. Hadn't dreamed about Hayley since that night, either. Just strawberry scented dark hair and dark eyes soft and tear-filled. Of small hands caressing him in dreams, of a slightly husky voice saying his name before he kissed her, and more. Of a firm and athletic body pressed against his in a South Dakota barn.

Of being only one man instead of two. Having someone who understood the job and that it didn't always stay at the office. Someone who understands the mind-numbing horrors that he saw every day. But someone who could make him smile anyway, without pressure, without bitterness.

Someone who could get close to him, too. Someone he could hold when her nightmares got to be too much. Someone he could lean on, but who could lean on him, too.

Hayley never had nightmares—and she hadn't really understood him when he had. He'd never once been able to discuss the pain the job could sometimes bring with his wife of fifteen years. And now that the divorce was final, he actually felt like a completely different kind of man.

But maybe he was coming on too strong? Emily had been displaying some serious signs of nervousness in the last three weeks. Ever since he'd held her in the hospital chapel as she'd cried. And ever since Chicago.

Had it only been three weeks since he'd pulled Dave from his burning vehicle? Since the night he'd found Prentiss alone and crying for all that she'd endured that day? She'd killed a man, had an officer shot at her feet—and had a friend and team mate seriously hurt. And yet she'd spent the entire time in the hospital waiting room taking care of everyone else

Including him.

And he hadn't noticed.

It had been Detective La Montaigne of all people to point it out.

So he'd went searching for her and found her alone. Separated from the team. It had broken his heart to see her that way.

He'd known what it felt like to fight your demons alone, and she didn't need to do it. He'd held her, and actually felt himself move from the two men he'd been forced to live like for years to the one man he should be.

Soon the rest of the team was in, and Hotchner continued to watch from his office, alone and isolated like always. JJ looked a bit green, morning sickness hitting her hard. Spencer was spouting off, his mouth moving fast as he spoke. He watched as Emily wrapped a hand around the boy's arm and shook it lightly, drawing his attention. Reid looked down at her and smiled, almost embarrassed. Emily teased him before releasing him.

He loved watching the way she was with Reid. The kid was so longing for a family, and Emily fulfilled dual roles—mother and big sister. Spencer needed that. Just like Derek needed a friend he didn't have to mentor, just like JJ and Garcia needed a female confidante who was a bit wiser to the world. How Rossi had needed a female friend who came with no prior preconceptions of the successful author and profiler. Someone who'd visited him more than anyone else while he was recovering, and just listened to him vent.

Emily filled more roles than Elle Greenaway ever had. Elle had been a young agent, one in need of more training, Emily was calm, competent, and invaluable. He remembered Rossi's words to him before he'd been injured. "You don't know that Garcia sees her as something like Wonder Woman, JJ sees her as the big sister she never had—you don't let yourself see how she mother's Reid, how Morgan treats her like his best friend, and you don't see how whenever you have a bad day, she's the person right beside you, the one person you talk to. Hell, Aaron, we send her to you when we know you're having a rough time."

JJ looked toward the office and caught his eye. He nodded, understanding that she'd identified another case for the team.

It was time to stop another monster.

The plane ride to California was long and bumpy. It was nerve-wracking for everyone. And hell for JJ. Emily held her friend's hair back as she lost her breakfast in the plane's commode for the third time.

"Oh, God." JJ moaned. "I don't know if I can do this, Em."

"Of course you can, JJ. You're one of the strongest people I know." Emily reassured, handing her a wet cloth. "And this too shall pass. Or so I've been told."

"I don't want them to see." JJ said emphatically, though she kept her voice down. The entire team had chosen to sit at the rear of the plane close to the restroom to shorten the distance if they had to get up during the turbulence. It was one thing for Emily to know she was sick—they always shared a hotel room—but the guys didn't need to see her so wimpy.

"The guys? I got your back there." Emily said. "But you know they'll know."

"Can't hide anything from a profiler, can I?"

"No. I won't let them ask you any questions if you don't want them to." Emily promised. "But I think we need to get strapped in. This turbulence isn't doing good for any of us."

"Oh God, no." JJ moaned as another wave of turbulence triggered another wave of nausea. And they still had an eight hour flight to go.

Emily helped her into her seat, and handed her several air sickness bags. They normally didn't need them on this jet. JJ was just fastened in when another strong bit of turbulence hit.

Emily wasn't quite so lucky. She hadn't found her seat in time and the turbulence sent her lurching forward—straight into Hotch's lap. Her elbow caught Reid straight across the nose and he started bleeding.

"Spencer, I am so sorry!" Emily said, as Hotch tightened his hold to prevent her from moving as more turbulence shook the plane.

"Emily! Hold still." He whispered fiercely against her ear. "I don't think it's over yet. Reid's ok."

"Ok. There are some days when I hate flying." Emily muttered back from her awkward position half in the floor, half clutched to her supervisor's lap with her feet caught between Reid's. "Reid, are you alright? I didn't break your nose, did I?"

"Nobe, Embully, juz hi'it kina hard." The good doctor replied, holding a tissue to his face. "I eel be ullride."

"I am so sorry." Hotch's hand was warm on her back, the other tight around her upper arm. She felt the warmth of his thigh against her chest. Talk about awkward. She looked back toward JJ and widened her eyes pleadingly as even more turbulence hit. The younger woman just shrugged helplessly and turned back to her airsickness bag. Garcia patted JJ's knee from across the aisle. Since Rossi'd been injured, the blonde tech had been accompanying them on more cases, just to provide easier access to her research.

JJ couldn't help her. Garcia probably wouldn't. She'd long said Emily should just jump the boss—that someone needed to, else Hotch would freeze up like a Superman sherbet. And process of elimination—since she and JJ were both in relationships—had left Emily to do it. Some how she didn't see that happening anytime soon. If ever.

She looked toward Morgan, but he was handing Reid one tissue at a time and instructing him in the proper way of dealing with a bloody nose.

Emily doubted he'd even think to help her—or think that she'd need it.

The turbulence increased and for a moment—only a moment, as she was a seasoned flyer—she began to doubt the metal bird could withstand anymore. She dropped her head slightly, tucking in tighter to Hotch's stabilizing body. Hotch pulled her up, straight from the floor, and she was momentarily surprised at the power hidden beneath his regulation blue suit. He settled her into the space between him and Reid and she hurriedly buckled the belt.

The plane lurched and JJ moaned from the other side of Hotch. Emily turned back to her, compassion filling her at the misery on her blond friend's face. JJ dropped her head to the back of the seat and closed her eyes, one hand clutching her stomach, the other the airsickness bag.

Hotch shifted slightly, offering a little bit more support to the blonde's side, helping to box her in between the corner seat and his body. Lessened the area she had to bounce around in during the turbulence.

His other arm he draped around Emily, wrapped it around her waist as best he could—tucking her in tight against his chest.

It was the bumpiest ride that he could remember, and he, too, found himself praying it would ease up—or the pilot would just land the damn thing.

But then again, he was wrapped around Emily, so it was a double-edged sword. Why did she insist on using strawberry shampoo? Did she consciously make that decision to taunt him?

If so, it worked.

Poor JJ had finally fallen asleep, and Hotch knew it was due entirely to the changes wracking her body. Reid's nose quit bleeding, though everyone could still sense Emily's sense of guilt. She hadn't made a move to pull herself away from him and he relished that, though he wondered briefly if she was aware of it.

She seemed to fit perfectly right where she was, and he was fighting his body's natural reaction to her closeness. It had been almost eleven months since he'd been with Hayley. And his body was reminding him of that. His body and the nightly dreams that featured Agent Emily Prentiss doing some super things to her supervisor. Things he reciprocated gladly.

Morgan watched the mini-drama across the aisle from him curiously. In the last couple of weeks—since they'd realized Rossi was going to ultimately survive, Emily had been more nervous of Aaron Hotchner than she'd ever been.

He, as her friend, had seen the signs from the very beginning. So he'd watched.

He'd seen Hotch's hand linger the slightest bit too long on Prentiss's shoulder. Seen the way he'd taken to standing directly between her and any male law enforcement they made contact with—but didn't really know. As if claiming her. He wondered if Hotch was aware of how primitive he was acting.

The way he'd insisted on doing all interrogations that normally Emily could handle on her own—he wanted to be there. Had to be there. Watched menacingly from one side of the table.

Derek thought it was about damned time. Hotch and Hayley had been separated for what? Nine, ten months? The divorce had to be final sometime soon—if it wasn't already. Shouldn't the man be free to date whomever he wanted?

Derek wasn't too sure about Emily's feelings on the matter, though.

He couldn't remember ever seeing Emily Prentiss that skittish and he smiled briefly, thinking of a lion and an antelope. This time, Prentiss was definitely an antelope.

It had been at least three weeks since Rossi's injury—and Hotch had been stalking her like a skilled predator. But Derek knew predators eventually acted. He just wondered when Hotch was going to pounce.

He'd have to watch and find out.

APOCALYPSE TWO

The police station was small and outdated. There wasn't a female officer in the entire building. JJ and Emily knew immediately that this place was going to be riddled with good ole boys.

Goody. Just what they needed. They'd both experienced it before. Some men just didn't think women should be in law enforcement. JJ'd gotten it because of her china doll appearance, Emily'd gotten it for just about everything—the way she'd curled her hair, the way she'd dressed, the way she'd backed down, the way she didn't. The question in both their minds, as they followed the head detective into the back office they'd been relegated to, was just what where they going to have to do to prove themselves this time. Garcia hadn't experienced what the two agents had, so she paid it little mind—though she got more than her fair share of looks as the team walked in.

Unfair, unjust, just not right—but it was just the way it was.

Detective Scott Palmers was around Hotch's age, slightly shorter, built more like Morgan. Emily supposed he was a handsome man, but the minute he opened his mouth he lost all his charm.

"I want you all to know we don't put much stock in all that talk about profiling. This isn't some television show." Palmers said, looking at the group derisively, eyes lingering on the women for only a second. But it was enough for Emily to read him accurately. Great. "Second, we have a strict way of running investigations in this office. I take you to remember that."

"Sir, respectively, we are here to help you catch the man who killed these people. We will be running the investigation our way. But you will be making the collar, not us. That's not we're after." Hotch began, tone calm, resolute, and final. "Still, we are well aware that this isn't a television show—what we do is the real thing. And we're all damned good at it. Now if you're ready to begin we need to see everything, every piece of evidence, every witness report, everything you've got will tell us a bit more about this man."

"I'll have Jimmy round up the files. Is there anything else you'll be needing? A couple of chairs for the ladies, perhaps?" He stared at JJ a moment, taking in the pale complexion and the circles under her eyes, before turning to run his gaze over Emily, in her blue tank blouse and black dress slacks. He smirked and it rankled Emily, before he turned to look at the third woman in the room. He actually looked pained at the bright red and white polka dot blouse Garcia was wearing.

No one on the team had missed the barrenness of the room they'd found themselves in. All that was in it was a metal shelf, surrounded by four gray walls. And it was small—most likely used as an interrogation area. Cold and unwelcoming. Deliberately.

"We'll need chairs, a white board and a table large enough to spread everything out on. Other than that, we need the detectives who first drew the case." Hotch said.

"Yes, sir. Agent Hotchner." Palmers said. He passed by Emily on his way out the door and his eyes lingered minutely on the skin exposed by the low V of her blouse.

She wanted to fold her arms over her chest but knew better. She couldn't let him win his little game.

She was better than that. Still, if she'd drawn his attention rather than JJ or Garcia it was a blessing in disguise, really. The younger woman was not up to dealing with lecherous hick cops at the moment. Poor thing would have her hands full with the media as it was. And Garcia would shred the man. Pity, they'd not be able to let her, but it wouldn't be good for the team's reputation.

It took nearly an hour for the supplies Hotch ordered to arrive. Two young officers, in there early thirties, carried the five folding chairs and the table in a few successive trips. They set them up almost wordlessly, then the shorter of the two wheeled in a battered bulletin board.

"I'm Jimmy Allen, I got the first call." The older, taller, one said, holding out a hand to Hotchner. The man had just looked like he was in charge, though Hotchner and the team had said very little. "I'm sorry about the Sheriff. He can be a bit exclusive to strangers."

"It's nice to meet you, I'm SSA Hotchner and this is my team, SSA Derek Morgan, Dr. Spencer Reid, SA Jennifer Jareau—whom I believe you spoke with on the phone—Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia, and SSA Emily Prentiss. What can you tell us about what you've found so far?"

"I'm not sure what we've got. I've, uh, not had my shield all that long, and I will be the first to admit this is the worst I've ever seen. Hell, I was a lawyer before moving to the force." He was an attractive man, with burnished hair and bright green eyes. He had an honest, and earnest face, and Emily immediately felt comfortable with him. "A friend from the FBI's Portland field office suggested I give you guys a call—and the mayor of the city owed me a personal favor, so he issued the official invite."

"Over Palmers' head? Man, you are brave." Morgan whistled through his teeth. Cops didn't break the chain of command without very good reason.

"Not many here agree with Palmers' way of doing things—although first shift certainly does. You'll probably find second shift more cooperative." Allen said, holding out a chair for the youngest blonde woman. His sharp eyes hadn't missed the pale face, the slightly nauseated look, or the slight swelling of her stomach. He'd seen enough pregnant women to recognize one of the verge of losing whatever contents were still in her stomach.

"In that case, let's go over what evidence you've collected then head to dinner and the hotel. We'll come back here later this evening." Hotch ordered, checking his watch.

"About that—the hotels around here were completely booked, it's a big convention weekend—I could only get one free room. I didn't realize there would be six of you coming in. But it's got double beds, and a pull out couch. I hope that's alright?"

"Last month we slept in a hay barn, man. Don't sweat it." Morgan said, appreciating the man's sincerity. "Although Reid here talks in his sleep constantly, I think we'll manage."

"I do not."

"Honey, yes you do. You were talking about comic books on the plane." Emily told him gently. "Something about Wonder Woman and Superman."

"At least I don't kick." He retorted. "JJ and Garcia said you kick like Pele."

"So I've heard." Emily shrugged ruefully, as everyone eyed her.

"I'm not sharing with Emily!" Both JJ and Garcia said, eliciting a small laugh from the rest of the group.

"And I'm not sleeping on a coffee table—again." Emily challenged. Her back had hurt for days after that.

"Can we get back on track here?" Hotch chastised softly, though his lips were twitching. He hadn't thought she kicked like Pele that night in the barn. But she sure did like to cuddle tight. "Detective Allen, what can you tell us about the first site?"

"It was an office building. Six workers were poisoned. We've determined it was a snake venom, but who or why—we have drawn a complete blank. Two days later, it was a law firm clear across town. Three more died. Same venom." Allen explained, handing Hotch forensic reports. Emily moved closer to the supervisor to read around his shoulder. "Mojave rattlesnake. But no one had any bite marks, and we can't identify the system of delivery. We tested all food products, all products that could possibly come into contact with a person's mouth. Nothing."

"Poisons are generally a distant crime." Reid said, as he too scanned the report from behind Hotch's other shoulder. "And very organized. They have to be to be effective."

"Could be either a male or a female—a lot of female killers choose poison because it's less messy." Emily added, as she moved to take a seat at the table. Everyone else followed suit, Hotch to the left of her and Detective Allen to the right. "Still, why two separate locations? A woman would generally pick one target, and one only, and would profit materially from the victim's death. Of the small percentage of serial killers who are women, only a fraction kill those outside of the family. And most of them kill for financial gain. Detective Allen, did you check who benefitted from the nine victims' deaths? Anyone stand out?"

"No, ma'am. Most of the victims were on stable financial feet, most had reasonable insurance policies, and everyone seemed genuinely grief-stricken." Allen answered, trying not to notice how striking her dark hair and eyes were. He'd always been partial to dark haired women. "We looked carefully at everyone who benefitted in any way. Plus the majority of the insurance companies are refraining from paying until the case is closed."

"I don't know," Reid started, "This kind of snake venom is relatively easy to come by, correct? But it's not in a synthetic form or bottled easily. Someone would have to physically extract it from the snake, correct?"

The detective nodded.

"It definitely probably wasn't a woman, then." JJ said, looking at the picture of the snake in the encyclopedia the detective had marked, and shuddering. "I wouldn't get close to that thing for all the money in the world."

"I wouldn't, either." Emily agreed emphatically, releasing her own shudder. "But we can't really rule out a woman until we have a bit more to go on."

"We need to find out the method of delivery." Morgan said. "What else are you doing to identify it?"

"We've seized everything in the offices. Pens, papers, tested water jugs, soap dispensers, anything that can disguise a toxin. So far, nothing." Allen said, and the profilers could see the frustration in his face.

"So let's move past the poison and focus on the person behind it. For now, we'll assume the victims were random, and profile the companies they all worked for." Hotch said, momentarily distracted when Emily's knee bumped his thigh under the table. The room was extremely small, and hot, and he could smell sweat and the sweet scent of strawberries. It was late June in the middle of Northern California. He loosened his tie and removed his suit jacket, hanging it over the back of the chair. Emily and JJ had both shucked their jackets the instant they'd stepped out of the vehicles, and theirs hung in nearly identical positions. "What do we know?"

"Law firm. Medical malpractice suits, siding with the doctors, mostly." Emily began. "And a small commercial building with companies ranging from investments to counseling services for the elderly. The victims all worked at JL Libstein and Associates, an investment company."

"So no obvious connection there." JJ said, as she helped Garcia setup her computer system.

"Well, both lawyers and investment advisors share similar characteristics," Spencer said. "Higher education, white collar backgrounds, a certain typology of people choose both careers. So maybe that's why they were targeted."

"Tomorrow morning, we'll split up. JJ and Garcia, you'll work on finding out what ever you can on each of the two companies. Reid and Morgan, I want you to do interviews at the law firm, Prentiss and I will take the financial investment company. Detective Allen, if you'd like to accompany us and your partner Agent Morgan?" Hotch instructed. Allen's partner, Detective Kinsey, was off on a personal day and they'd yet to meet him.

"That'll be great." Allen said, "If you want, I can drive you to the hotel, get you settled."

"That'll be great." Hotch said, as Emily and JJ began sorting all the files into neat stacks for easier access in the morning. They'd of course, have digital copies on their handhelds, but paper copies were often so much more tangible.

The hotel room seemed even smaller than the interrogation room. There were two beds, like promised, but one was barely wider than a twin. The other was a standard double. The couch was a two-seater, but the manager promised it pulled out into another double bed. It was dark green and faded, and looked anything but comfortable. Where the hell were they going to sleep?

Derek and Reid eyed the twin mattress, and then each other. No way were they sharing that. So that left the couch pull out. But what about the girls? Could all three fit into the double bed comfortably?

Somebody was going to end up in the floor. And it wouldn't be JJ.

"Let's get settled," Hotch said, looking around the cramped fifteen by twenty room with its dark paneled walls and pea green carpet. "Then find food. I think it would be best if we spent as little time in here as possible."

"I agree with you there," Emily said, shoving her ready bag under the bed. "Can this place get any hotter?"

"Unfortunately, it can." Reid said.

"No—don't tell me!" Emily protested, holding up a staying hand. "I don't want to know. But I do want ice cream, so let's get moving, boys."

"Yes, ma'am." Derek said, saluting. "Hotch, did Det. Allen say where he was meeting us?"

"A family diner two miles from here." Hotch said, "He's swinging by to pick up his partner, on the way."

"Come on," JJ ordered, "I want ice cream, too. Lots of it."

Everyone smiled at her, knowingly.

"What? Can't a girl want ice cream in hundred degree weather?" She shrugged.

"Ice cream has a high percentage of calcium, but also a high percentage of sugar." Reid began, "Pregnant women need to increase their calcium by—"

"Reid, I want ice cream, not a lecture on prenatal care." JJ warned, as Emily and Garcia snickered behind her. Reid was so enthusiastic about JJ's baby. It was cute. "So let's move!"

Emily, Reid, and JJ ended up riding with Hotch. JJ'd hopped into the front seat quickly, and Emily knew it was to discourage Reid from continuing his line of conversation. Emily didn't mind. She settled into the back seat and stared out the window, lost in thought.

The diner was surprisingly busy when they entered, although a lot of the diners—regulars, most likely—looked up and stared at the six people who walked in. It was a small town, and news of there arrival must have spread. Emily knew what they looked like. Two platinum blonds dressed in business suits and skirts—although Garcia's wasn't sedate by any means, Derek, dark and gorgeous, dressed like an army commando in his black fatigues and charcoal t-shirt, weapon holstered at his side, Spencer, tall and lanky, his gun sticking at an awkward angle on his narrow hips. And her and Hotch, dressed in professional suits, their own weapons not hidden in the least. She and Hotchwere the stereotypical g-men that people thought of when they heard FBI. They formed an intimidating half-dozen, and not a one of them doubted it.

Detective Allen stood, catching their attention from the largest booth in the very back of the restaurant. A pretty woman, petite but fit, with honey brown hair and glasses sat beside him. Emily guestimated her age to be around twenty-five or six. Young to be a detective. Emily led the way to the two, aware of Hotch's hand on the small of her back as they wove through the crowded diner, and it's staring patrons.

"Hello, Detective Allen." Emily said, smiling, as she slipped into the booth ahead of Hotch. She met up with JJ on the other side. Soon they were all crowded around the booth.

"This is my partner, Max Kinsey." Detective Allen said. "Max, this is SSAs Hotchner, Prentiss, Jareau, Morgan, Dr. Reid, and TA Garcia."

"It's nice to meet you, and thank you for coming to help us so quickly." Det. Kinsey said, smiling at each agent as they were introduced. She had a pretty smile, with freckles dancing across her nose. "This case has us all baffled."

"It's our pleasure." Hotch said, as the menus were being passed around. "We have only one rule—we don't discuss the cases while we eat."

"Sounds reasonable." Max said. "I recommend the fried chicken with mashed potatoes. It's the best."

"Works for me." Emily said. The waitress chose that moment to appear and Emily placed her order. Soon everyone else followed suit, although they chose a wide variety of menu items. When the food arrived, they were discussing the finer beaches of California. Detectives Allen and Kinsey were funny and engaging and everyone found they were having a great time.

Emily got her ice cream, as did JJ, Reid, and Garcia. The flavors were as varied as the individuals consuming them. JJ traded half her chocolate for half of Emily's strawberry. Hotch kept sneaking bites of the pink confection out of Emily's bowl, but she didn't mind.

She'd long known he was crazy for strawberries, and the homemade sweet was some of the best she'd ever had. She'd really been surprised he'd not ordered some of his own.

They'd just finished the last of the cold treat when Allen's telephone rang.

There had been more murders. And as the only homicide detectives on the small force, he and Max were being called back in. Which meant the team was being called back in, too.

After all, what were the odds that a town with a population of only three thousand people would have twelve people murdered over a span of a week and the deaths not be related?

The odds just weren't that good.

APOCALYPSE THREE

Twelve murders, two different MOs, Hotch thought as he, Allen, Prentiss, and Morgan stared at the scene fifteen feet down the hill from them. Three young women lay gutted and tossed aside in the field. Reid, JJ, and Garcia had accompanied Max Kinsey back to the station house. It was going to be a long night.

Dammit, Hotch thought, angry at the senseless loss of three young women—all within the age range of the members of his team. His mind pictured the three women as Emily, Garcia, and JJ, and he vowed silently that these women's family would get the answers they deserved—just like he'd want the answers if it was Emily and the others so brutally murdered.

That was why he did this job, so that women like his team mates could be safe at night, so children like his Jack could play without fear. That was why he was the BAU. Why it was who he was, more than what he did.

"What do we know so far?" Emily asked in a soft voice. She was always the one to help him keep the case on track, even when he wasn't aware that he was loosing focus. "Are we absolutely sure this is related to the other deaths?"

"We wouldn't have called you out here if we weren't." Chief Palmers said from behind her.

"What makes you think they are?" Morgan demanded. "Different MOs, different victimology, different location. All of it says two UNSUBs to me."

"This town has had four murders in the last twenty years—and twelve in the last week. That's why." Palmers snarled. He liked it when his job was uneventful—save for the occasional drunk driver. Now he had twelve dead people to deal with—and it was an election year. So either these Feds hurried up and caught the guy, or Palmers would take matters into his own hands.

"Stranger things have happened," Emily said distractedly, as she moved forward an bent down to look at the nearest body. Hotch instinctively copied her movements. "Hotch, this doesn't look like blood. It looks almost like red paint or enamel, or something."

"Detective Allen, can you see that this is processed as a rush?" Morgan asked, looking at the other detective. "We need to know what this is ASAP."

"We've just got the one tech." Palmers started. "Allen—call him in."

"I already have…sir." Allen said, leaning a hand down to assist Emily up. She took it wordlessly before moving to the next body.

It was a blonde woman and she looked so much like JJ Emily almost shuddered. She hated when that happened, when one of the victims reminded her of someone. Inevitably in her dreams they change from the poor victim into her friends.

She probably wouldn't sleep tonight, either. She'd most likely end up sitting in the hotel lobby—if it had one—waiting to watch the sunrise. It's what she did when it got bad. Derek and JJ teased her, saying she was the ghost who haunted the various hotels. Said they were going to call TAPS to come to the BAU and search for EVPs or some such nonsense.

Thinking of those two helped get her back on track, so that she was able to see that the same strange coloring was on the other two victims as well.

Why would there be red enamel on their victims—in the same location as the stab marks? It just didn't make sense.

"There's not much more we can do here, tonight." Hotch called it, knowing that it was late, and the tests and autopsies would take a lot of time. "We should head back to the hotel and get some sleep. First thing tomorrow morning, I'll want us to talk to the victims' families again. See if there's anything we missed."

Emily and Morgan both nodded; neither really liked taking the break, but knew that they'd do better with clear heads. "I need time to think, Hotch. Something's tickling the back of my brain."

"A good night's sleep should help." Hotch told her, as he walked with her back to the SUV. "Not that we'll be sleeping all that great in that hotel."

"It's much better than a barn." Emily replied, quietly. Morgan and Allen were several yards behind them. "That was pretty uncomfortable."

"I don't know, I didn't have any complaints." Hotch said, eyes flaring with momentary heat, remembering the feel of her pressed against him.

"I did." Emily insisted. "That hay was scratchy."

"Yes, it was." Hotch said as he climbed in and buckled his seat belt. "But the company wasn't bad."

"Reid's talk of horror movies didn't bother you, huh?" Emily understood that the humor they exhibited was just another way of coping with what they'd just seen. "It was a dark and terrifying night, and poor JJ…the first to go."

"Hey, at least you were guaranteed to survive." Hotch quipped as he pulled the SUV out behind Allen's.

"According to Reid." Emily paused a moment, looking out at the clear night sky and the stars overhead. "I don't think it's the same UNSUB."

"I don't either. I'm not even sure they're connected. I mean, other than geographically—is there anything else to tie them together?" Hotch said.

"Chief Palmers certainly thinks so." Emily said, ruefully. The man grated more each time she saw him.

"Chief Palmers is lazy, sloppy, and old-school. He's bound to hear hoofs and think zebras." Hotch said, bluntly.

"Add in he's sexist, disgusting, perverted—and I think you'll have him about right." Emily said, closing her eyes.

"Excuse me?" Hotch turned his head in her direction, surprised. "Something I should know about?"

"Nothing really. Just that some men tend to view women in law enforcement derogatorily. We've already gotten the stares and the condescending remarks—today. But at least we've not been grabbed at—yet."

"You've been grabbed? When? Besides that guy in South Dakota?" Hotch would never forget seeing her fall over that cliff just because some damned drunk wanted a feel.

"Yes. Previous cases."

"While with the BAU?"

"Yeah, Hotch. JJ and I both have. It almost goes with the territory." Was he really that clueless? He was one of the forerunners of behavioral sciences and he hadn't noticed two members of his team getting groped? "You can't tell me you've not noticed? JJ—kicking that guy in Fredericksburg? My drink just happens to fall in Officer Peterson's lap in Santa Fe?"

"I thought JJ tripped."

"No…" Emily paused a moment, then laughed lightly. "We just thought you didn't care, and left it to us to handle it—are you telling me you just didn't notice?"

"I expect the law enforcement agents we encounter to behave professionally and treat every member of my team with the utmost respect." Hotch said. "They must not have done anything while I was around."

"Granted, I didn't notice if you were or not. But I know Derek's seen it happen, and Reid. Even Rossi's stepped in a time or two when things got out of hand."

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"For not noticing, doing something to stop it. You two shouldn't have to face that—its disrespectful, demeaning, and out of line. The next time something like that happens, I want to be made aware of it."

"We have to fight our own battles, Hotch. We can't appear to look weak. You should understand that." Emily cautioned. "If we have to have a big strong man ride to the rescue it doesn't exactly give the strongest impression. We have our ways of dealing with it."

"So did anyone ever cross the line?" Hotch asked. He knew what she was saying, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Someone had threatened her, and it made him furious.

"Once. The Vermont case. Arlington and Jackson—two of the local law enforcement-came to the hotel room." Emily couldn't entirely repress the shudder at the thought. "They were drunk."

"What happened?" Hotch's hands tightened on the wheel. They'd been in Vermont the month after Hayley'd served him divorce papers. It was the same week she'd told him she was seeing someone else—a lawyer of all things. She'd called him constantly, wanting to fight over the house, the furniture, Jack. She'd done it deliberately, wanting to distract him from the job she resented so much. He'd not been too aware of what was going on around him, and he hated that he might have missed something so integral.

"They somehow got in the door. Met the business end of our service weapons. Plus Morgan and Rossi heard them jimmying our door." Emily didn't tell him how close Arlington's slimy palms had gotten to her skin before she'd grabbed her gun off the nightstand. Or how Jackson had been standing over JJ's bed, unbuckling his belt. Or how Rossi and Derek—and even Reid—had hauled the two locals outside and told them how things were done on the federal level. "That pretty much took care of it."

"Dammit. Why didn't I hear all this? I sent you out with Arlington the next day!"

"Why do you think Rossi chose to go, too? And we didn't want to bother you, Hotch. You had enough going on. And we took care of it. Jay and I aren't helpless." Even though it had scared the shit out of JJ, and Emily wasn't much better.

"Of course not. But as your supervisor—and your friend—I want to know the next anything untoward happens. Understand me?" His hand left the wheel and found hers, squeezing insistently.

"Understand. We, uh, sleep with a chair under our door knob now." Emily admitted. "It surprised us. We were ok, would have been fine without Rossi, Reid, and Derek's help—but they got in without JJ or I hearing them. It was only at the last minute I grabbed my gun. It distracted them enough for JJ to get hers, too. Derek and Rossi heard us telling them to get out, had heard them trying to get in our room. The team was in our room in seconds, Hotch. We were ok, but JJ was pretty shaken up. That's why she always books us into the same room, even when singles are available. And Garcia, too. We all stay together."

"Dammit, Emily. Promise me, you'll tell me next time. Let me handle it." Hotch's blood was chilled completely as he imagined what she and JJ had experienced on his watch. Damn Hayley and her machinations. Emily and JJ could have been seriously hurt, while Hayley was arguing over his grandmother's chair.

"If I feel it's appropriate." Emily finally agreed. "I promise."

Emily was glad to see the hotel looming in the distance, despite what she knew would be a cramped, uncomfortable night. She wanted a shower and bed, in that order.

She drew one of the short sticks—was fourth in line for the shower. Poor Reid got relegated to the morning, so it could have been worse. Of course, a cold shower did nothing to help her relax. She hurried as best she could, vanilla body scrub and her special strawberry shampoo and conditioner always soothing her. Reminding her that there were smells besides death and rot. She hurriedly dressed in her favorite red tank and a pair of black sweats she'd swiped from Derek months earlier. When she was finished she left the bathroom and gave Hotch the all clear to take his own shower, then she stretched out on what she knew would be Hotch's bed—the pullout couch—while he took his own shower, and started towel drying her dark hair.

No one else spoke, either, all tired, and content to be winding down. Derek and Spence were lying in opposite directions in the smaller of the beds—Spence's feet six inches from the back of Derek's head. JJ and Garcia were long gone, exhaustion taking both blondes under quickly.

Hotch's couch was almost comfortable. She could feel her body relaxing softly, and she tried to fight it, knowing he'd pulled the straw for the privilege of sleeping solo. Right then, she didn't care. He'd just have to wake her when she needed to crowd in with JJ and Garcia. Right then, on top of the cover, she was perfectly comfortable…

Even though four other people had recently used the shower, it smelled like the woman he couldn't stop thinking about. In fact, the smell of Emily and strawberries was nearly overwhelming. He found the reason sitting neatly on the edge of the shower. Emily's shampoo. She'd left the bottle behind. He picked it up, eyeing the label, twisting off the cap to breathe it in.

The scent of strawberries was so strong he could taste the berry tartness on his tongue.

God, he loved strawberries.

He replaced the cap, and looked at the half empty bottle. It wasn't a very big bottle. He touched it again, twirling it around in one hand as he unbuttoned his shirt with the other.

She'd probably never miss it. He looked at it again, obviously torn, before tucking it stealthily in the bottom of his ready bag. No, she'd probably never miss it. He'd just take it home with him, and put it in his bathroom. Just because he loved the smell of strawberries—he told himself. And the shampoo—an expensive blend—was redolent with the scent.

It never even occurred to him that his behavior shouted obsession. If it had, he wouldn't have cared.

Like Emily's, his own shower was nearly freezing so he didn't dawdle. When he came out of the restroom everyone was sound asleep—including the dark-eyed woman stretched out on top of his pullout bed.

Minus the four members of the team currently occupying the other beds, and it would have been one of the fantasies that had been plaguing him the last few weeks. God, she was even wearing the shirt. The red tank that showed so much, while revealing nothing. He loved that shirt on the best of days, and now she was lying in his bed, wearing that shirt—and no bra.

His body was tenser than if a raving serial killer was standing in the room with them as he approached the bed. He stowed his ready bag under the pullout and contemplated just what he was going to do with her.

Ruthlessly shoving aside the thoughts of what he wanted to do to her.

Her hair was wet, and he realized it was curling wildly. Natural. He loved her hair when it curled. It shouted warm, sexy woman, rather than the calm, sedate, professional woman that was indicated by the smooth, straight locks she favored during the work week.

Hotch looked at the hotel room, dim as the light by the couch was the only one lit and it hardly counted as a light at all. Everyone was exhausted, sound asleep. Garcia and JJ had little room in the bed, and he just couldn't bring himself to shove Emily over there.

The way she squirmed—was squirming even now—she'd fall into the floor. Hotch didn't want any member of his team sleeping on that dirty floor—especially Emily.

Still, it would be inappropriate for them to sleep together. Not that he'd let anything happen—at least, not with the other team members in the room.

He made up his mind, and pulled back the covers; he tucked her under both the faded comforter and the top sheet before sliding in on top of the loose sheet. He'd just keep the thin cotton between their bodies, to prevent the appearance of impropriety.

The mattress tipped alarmingly when he slid up behind her, and she squirmed. She snuggled herself into his chest, tightly, like she had weeks earlier, while sleeping in a pile of hay. Like then, he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her even closer to him, letting her feel his warmth in the unregulated coldness of the nearly antiquated air conditioning.

She smelled like sweet strawberries, and Hotch fell asleep with the tartness in his lungs, and her body pressed lovingly against his.

Hotch woke when the bed beside him shifted. Emily was moving restlessly, and his mind immediately flashed to what Rossi had said in the barn two weeks earlier. My second ex was a squirmer, too. Nightmares. I'd hold her tight and she'd settle down.

Unthinkingly, he pulled her back into his arms, wondering idly when she'd rolled away. She fought him, slightly, and rolled on her back, her right arm tucked between them, and her left coming to fist in the soft cotton material of his FBI PT t-shirt, right over his heart.

Soft whimpers came from her mouth, and Hotch's blood ran icy. Emily was having a nightmare. Should he wake her? Pull her close? He didn't want to overstep the bounds between them—not yet. She—he—neither, was ready for that. But he didn't want her waking the rest of the team.

"Hotch, man?" Derek asked. He was a light sleeper and easily awakened. "She ok?"

"Shh. Nightmare, I think." Hotch said, as he ran one hand down her side. He whispered reassurances to her, tucked her head on his chest, and pulled her half over him. He held her tightly, one large hand splayed over her back. "I think she's ok, now."

"Good, man. Good night." Derek said, smiling softly at what he'd just seen in the dim hotel light. Hotch's face had actually been more open to him than it had in years. What he'd seen hadn't really surprised him.

Hotch was falling—and falling fast—for Derek's best friend. And he couldn't think of any two people who deserved each other more.

***

APOCALYPSE FOUR

Curtis Judalet said:

Love is as much of an object as an obsession, everybody wants it, everybody seeks it, but few ever achieve it, those who do will cherish it, be lost in it, and among all, never . . . never forget it.

Emily awoke completely disconcerted. She was draped over her supervisor in a way that was nowhere near professional, with nothing separating them but the thin cotton of their night clothes. And his warm hand was under the back of her tank top, making lazy circles on her skin, ghosting ever so close to the sides of her breasts where they lay crushed against him. Her knee was cocked over his thigh, his other hand wrapped tightly around it, keeping her firmly in place. Her head rested on his firm chest, pressed against his beating heart.

It had been a long time since Emily had woken held this close to a man—she didn't count North Dakota, and while she definitely admitted it felt good—the entire idea that it was Hotch she was draped over freaked her to her toes.

His hand trailed lazily down her spine, and she arched slightly—until the exploring fingers dipped beneath the elastic on her sweats.

Whoa. That was so not happening. She thought as she stiffened. She started to pull away, dragging her knee off his hip—feeling the change in his body. Oh, shit!

His hand tightened, pulling her knee back to where it was, then higher. So that it was closer to his groin. Closer to him. His other hand splayed over her right where it was, at the top of her ass. He moaned, a near silent sound that traveled no further than her ears. "Shh, Em. Don't move. Please. It's ok."

Oh, shit! She thought again—realizing he wasn't cuddling her because he was used to having a warm body beside him. Realized he wasn't dreaming about his ex- wife as he stroked her, as his fingers tightened even lower on her ass, but that he knew it was her in bed with him. Knew it was her he was touching. Knew because he was awake, had been awake long before she was. Because he'd been the one to climb into bed with her.

This wasn't like that night in the barn. She'd woken the next morning snuggled against his side, yes, but his hands had stayed decorously to himself. There were none of these soft caresses beneath her shirt—or the rhythmic clenching of his hip muscles as he pulled her ever more closer, as he tightened his grip on her thigh, massaging the firm muscle.

She had to get out of his arms before something really happened, something they'd both regret, something that could ruin both their careers. Emily Prentiss had never had an office romance—or even a fling—in her entire life—and she doubted Hotchner had either.

She wasn't sure she wanted to have one now—no matter how good his hands felt, hot against the sensitive skin on her sides, close but not touching the soft swells of her breasts as he stroked her.

She had to get out of his arms before it was too late. Or someone else in the room woke and noticed just what was going on between her and her supervisor. How on earth would she explain this to JJ or Pen? Or even Derek?

She took the hand clenching around her knee and pulled it free, moving it firmly back to lay on the other side of him. It wasn't even a full second before the hand resting on the swell of her ass moved, bumping her up, bringing her more fully onto his chest. The hand she'd just freed returned, this time settling on her waist mere inches from his other. He shifted, half on to his side, and tightened his arms. Soon she was lying directly against him—chest to chest, thigh to thigh. So close she could feel every change that had taken place in his body.

"Hotch?" Her voice trembled, her nerves clear and apparent for him. But he didn't care, all that he could think about was the last three weeks of longing, of dreaming of her in that very position. And he'd woken and found her right where he'd wanted her.

His thinking wasn't clouded, his judgment wasn't impaired—Aaron Hotchner always woke immediately clear headed, so he knew exactly what he was doing as he pulled her closer, nudged one knee between hers to press against her body. His lips trailed over her forehead, brushing a kiss against the tangled dark strands there. "Shh, Em. Go back to sleep."

He never touched her anywhere but her back, the top swelling of her ass, the tender skin of her sides—never anywhere else. But he never stopped touching her there, either.

"Hotch!" Her whisper was a broken hiss, breathy and soft, the touch of it brushing against his neck. He shivered, and she felt the movement throughout his body, where it was pressed against hers. "I really shouldn't be here like this."

"It's all right—there's no way you'd be comfortable with JJ and Garcia." Hotch knew exactly what she was upset about, knew it was a dangerous game they were suddenly playing. Knew all the ramifications of what he wanted to do to her, with her. "You're fine right here. Nobody'll say anything."

"But…" Emily trailed off as he placed a finger against her lips. "Sir! We really should not be lying here, like this!"

"We're not hurting anything." Hotch said in an emphatic whisper. "And nobody would have to know if we did. It's no one's business."

"I would know." Emily said, squirming slightly—until he moaned, low in his throat.

"If you don't want us to do anything, you might just want to stop moving, Emily." Hotch growled.

Emily froze, just what he meant ever clear in her mind. Her dark eyes looked into his, glowing in the small lamplight. He'd obviously left it burning, and she knew he'd done it for Morgan—who'd told her of his secret fear of the dark after the last Portland case they'd had.

It had been a long time since a man had looked at her that way. And until the last three weeks, she'd never expected to see quite that look in her supervisor's eyes. His body was hard against hers, stronger than it looked when he was clad in those characterless suits he favored. He was equally as toned as Morgan, and she could feel every one of those muscles pressed against her, tight and ready.

And she knew exactly what they were ready for.

"Just go back to sleep. We've only a few hours until we have to get up." Hotch ordered, tucking her head under his chin. "Nothing will happen, you know you can trust me."

"Hotch, I've learned recently that I don't know you at all." She said, into his neck. He waited a moment, not moving, except to breathe, until her body relaxed, releasing the tension that had held her so taut. Until he felt her pressed so softly closer. "This surprises me. Worries me."

"I know." Hotch said, unconsciously burying his face in the tangled curls above her head. "Surprises me, as well. Go to sleep. We can talk when the case is finished."

Derek and JJ stared down at the sleeping couple, speculatively.

"I'll admit I wondered, but to see it like this—I never would have thought." The blonde whispered. "Quick."

"Quicker than I thought he'd be capable of, especially after Hayley." Derek admitted, staring down at his boss and his best friend. "Do you think we should wake them?"

"No need." Hotch said, making both jump. He hadn't even opened his eyes. "I'm awake. Let her sleep a bit longer."

"The, uh, restroom's free," JJ told him, watching as his arms tightened around Emily—before he rolled on his back carefully. Emily protested softly, until he re-tucked the blanket around her, to block out the chill of the air conditioning. She rolled completely on her stomach, one fist shooting up and out before her arm wrapped fully around his pillow. Soon the only sign of her was a few curls visible above the blanket.

Hotch moved carefully to the edge of the pullout, not wanting to tip the precarious mattress and wake her up. Not wanting JJ to see what the physical ramifications were to waking up in the morning with Emily draped over him. With his hand spread over the warm flesh of her back.

He hurriedly used the restroom, washed up, changed, and completed his toiletry. When he emerged, Spencer was waiting impatiently for his turn. Fifteen minutes later the boy was ready. Hotch, Derek, and Reid left the hotel room, after giving JJ instructions to meet them back at the diner they'd visited last night, in an hour.

JJ woke Garcia up first, and the blonde tech whistled her way to the restroom. JJ smiled, the older blonde always woke happy, just happy to have another bright day with her friends, no matter what they day may bring, it was another day with the people she cared about.

While Garcia was in the shower, JJ contemplated just what she was going to say to her dark haired friend. She shook Emily awake and sank down onto the bed. "Girl. You've got a lot of explaining to do."

"Uh." Emily said, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Waking up was not something she did easily. "What are you talking about?"

"You're in Hotch's bed—again." JJ reminded her. "When I woke up you were curled around him like Morgan does a cinnamon roll. And his hands weren't exactly in proper, Hotch-like positions this time. In fact, whenever I wake up with Will's hands in similar positions…well, let's just say—I'll show you the ultrasound if you need reminding. What's up?"

"God and only Hotch knows." Emily said, as Garcia strolled out of the restroom. "I don't have a clue what game the man is playing at. Or whether I have an equal position on the board."

"Chickadee, what on earth did I miss? Is our Wonder Woman finally going to shag Superman?" Garcia squealed, and dropped onto the pullout bed. "Yummy. So how did you end up sleeping in his bed?"

"I sat down while he was in the shower. Just long enough to towel dry my hair, without waking you two up…and I must have drifted off." Emily admitted. "I would have thought he'd have woken me up to move, but the next time I opened my eyes, I was, well…he was…"

"OOOOH. Go on." Garcia ordered, as JJ's eyes widened.

"Let's just say I thought he was dreaming of his wife—ex-wife, at first. Then he said my name. And I realized he wasn't asleep." Emily admitted, not normally so free with her private life.

But she needed a second—and third—opinion on what was happening with Hotch.

"What did he do? What did you do?" JJ asked, both excited and apprehensive at what she thought Emily was implying.

"He didn't do anything inappropriate. Well, too inappropriate, anyway." Emily admitted, thinking of the way his hands had felt against her skin. "But he wouldn't let me switch beds."

"How hard did you insist?" JJ asked, wryly. As Garcia asked, excited, "Did he kiss you?"

"He held me pretty tight. But I didn't exactly fight him off. I wasn't thinking all that clearly." Emily hedged. "He didn't kiss me, Garcia. At least, well…not really."

"OOOOH. But his lips did touch you somewhere, right?" The analyst asked, slyly. "Come on, Em. This is so exciting! Just like a movie!"

"A Lifetime movie," Emily said, dryly. "Idiot woman develops feelings for her unavailable boss."

"I thought it was his feelings that would make the movie." Garcia crowed. "So we're talking about your feelings, are we?"

"No. I don't know how I feel about all this." Emily admitted. "I can't say I've ever been in this situation before."

"I doubt Hotch has, either." JJ said, thinking of the man's fifteen plus year marriage.

"Well, he certainly seems to know what's going on a whole let better than I do." Emily said, standing and retreating to the bathroom. She ruthlessly pushed thoughts of Aaron Hotchner to the back of her mind, put him in his own, neat little compartment with a label that shouted Warning: Danger Ahead! over the top of it.

Cold Aaron Hotchner was hotter than dynamite, and she'd better decide whether she wanted to be a part of that explosion or not.

Breakfast was more of an ordeal than Emily ever thought it could be. She dropped JJ and Garcia off at the door before parking the SUV, and making her way slowly into the café. She moved to open the door, but a rugged hand reached around her and opened it for her. A man, handsome in an outdoorsy way, smiled down at her. "Allow me, ma'am."

"Thanks," She smiled softly as her eyes searched the diner and its patrons for the team. They occupied the same booth they had last night. The man at the door faded from her mind as her dark eyes met an equally dark gaze.

What the hell was she supposed to do now?

The man in question stood, allowing her to slide over the seat next to Garcia. As he settled back in the booth, she felt his heat scorching her through the thin cotton of her charcoal fatigues.

Suddenly, she wasn't all that hungry. Her stomach was tied tighter than the most experienced sailor's knot, every moment of their early morning encounter replaying in her mind. Her eyes met his, momentarily, and she knew he was remembering the same thing. His knee deliberately nudged her leg, and it took all her strength not to pull hers away.

Their meals arrived and she unthinkingly passed half her eggs to Hotch, and half her toast to Garcia, before eating.

She couldn't remember anything that was said later, but she remembered exactly how he smelled. Warm, enticing, and so damned different than what she'd ever expected.

Detective Allen had been right, Emily thought for the twelfth time since Hotch had had her drive JJ and Garcia back to the station to continue working on victimology.

She knew he was giving her some space. She was thankful for that. What she wasn't thankful for was lecherous assholes who had apparently waited until the male half of the FBI team was gone to pounce on the female half.

Even when Garcia had threatened to fry one guy's home computer they hadn't backed away. Even when JJ had vomited on one idiot's shoes they didn't back down.

Even when Emily's knee got dangerously close to creating a new soprano they didn't back off.

Women in law enforcement—was their reasoning—meant the BAU girls were fair game.

So, needless to say, when Hotch, Morgan, and Reid returned with Detectives Allen and Kinsey less than a minute later, it was more than apparent that something was going on besides victimology.

JJ's cheeks were red. And it wasn't from the heat, was Hotch's first thought upon entering the precinct. Garcia stood frozen, her eyes widened comically behind her polka dot framed glasses.

But it was the vicious red marks on Emily's arm that immediately drew Hotch—and Morgan's—gaze.

"Girl, what happened to your arm?" Morgan demanded, one hand moving to grasp her arm just under the offending marks. He'd seen enough grab marks to recognize them. Five crescents were also dug into the soft skin. Who the hell would have grabbed her that hard in the midst of a police station?

Hotch moved closer to her other side, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder, pulling her slightly in his direction. Morgan saw the look in his eyes and stepped back. He decided quickly that it was best to let Hotch handle this.

Whatever this was.

"What happened?" Hotch asked, flatly, one thumb running over the marks soothingly.

"A little misunderstanding." Emily said, trying hard not to let him see how she was shaking inside.

"About what?" His voice was a low growl, angry, even through its coldness. "Who, Emily?"

The threat behind it snapped Garcia's head in his direction, and had Detectives Allen and Kinsey stepping toward Emily almost protectively. But the threat wasn't directed at her. JJ, Reid, and Morgan just watched, never having seen Hotch quite that angry so quickly. Everyone was tense, watching the little drama between the two most contained members of the team.

The two who never let their emotions show for the whole world to see. Until today.

"About what we wanted to do with our free time while here in California." Emily said, a naturally placating quality having entered her voice once she realized how angry Hotch really was. "Don't worry, we took care of it."

"What happened? Where's Palmers?" Hotch asked, his voice holding a deadly tone.

"He's, uh, probably cleaning the vomit off his boots." Garcia said, almost stuttering. "He kind of spun JJ around too quick."

"Why'd he have his hands on you, anyway?" Morgan asked.

"He simply turned her to face him and she showed him her appreciation." Emily said, "It was nothing serious, just a bit of morning—all day—sickness, that's all. Reid, why don't you take JJ outside where she can get some fresh air?"

The younger doctor was grateful for something to do, some way to escape the strange tableau of the BAU team standing surrounded by the entire precinct, unmoving. He placed a hand on JJ's back and guided her out of the crowd and into the clean air.

"Garcia!" Hotch suddenly barked, and everyone in the room started. This was one dangerous man, coldly so. "I want to know exactly what happened."

"Give me two minutes, sir, and I can bring up the security feed of every little detail. You can see for yourself."

"Do it."

APOCALYPSE FIVE

Garcia was so tuned in to the undercurrents flowing around the small station that her fingers stumbled on the keys. It actually took he four minutes to hack into the rural station's security system. She found the segment immediately preceding the altercation and brought it up on the screen for Hotch and Morgan, as well as detectives Kinsey and Allen, to see.

The camera showed JJ approaching the old style water fountain with her ever present sports bottle, and filling it with water. An officer that Hotch didn't recognize approached the pretty blonde from behind. He asked her a question and she shook her head and moved to walk away.

He blocked her path, keeping her trapped between him and the back wall of the room. They watched as she tried to go around, but the officer on screen moved to block her path again.

This went on for several moments until JJ tried to simply barrel through the man. He grabbed her and laughed. Several of the officers at nearby desks laughed, too. JJ's hand went to her waist, where she'd have had her holster, if she still carried. She didn't, but it was a clear indication of the threat she perceived—at least to Hotch and Morgan.

Garcia entered the screen, obviously intent on the nearby restroom. She stopped short, seeing her friend. All her dormant protective instincts flared, and she stepped between JJ and the offending officer. He'd laughed when she threatened him. He nudged the older blonde aside and crowded the younger woman.

It was apparent he thought his actions were all in good fun.

Emily came out of the back room to check on her friends' progress and immediately sized up the situation.

She'd done what she always did when it came to the people she cared about. She stepped between the young officer and her friends.

Hotch watched as, on the screen, Chief Palmers stepped into the middle of the altercation. Instead of ordering his men back to work, he laughed, looking at first JJ, then Garcia, before turning to run his eyes over Emily suggestively. He said something.

Hotch watched as her spine stiffened, and she turned into the Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss he'd seen terrify a suspect in an interrogation.

Chief Palmers didn't back down. He'd stepped closer.

Emily turned and said something over her shoulder, obviously to JJ and Garcia. The two blondes started around Emily, JJ turning to say something at the last minute to the older woman.

Chief Palmers must have taken exception to having her back to him because he grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him rapidly.

Too rapidly. The team watched as the JJ on camera bent over double and emptied the contents of her stomach. It landed on Chief Palmers shoe. He jerked forward, headed straight for JJ, who was still bent over.

Emily moved, shoving her way between the police chief and her vulnerable colleague. She stared Chief Palmers down, while Garcia moved, quickly leading JJ off to the rest room.

Emily and Chief Palmers exchanged words, the woman not backing down an inch. Chief Palmers moved suddenly, his left hand jerking up to wrap around the smooth skin of her right arm. He jerked her close, and Hotch watched as she subconsciously arched her back, trying to get away from him.

The man growled something into her face, leaned in ever closer until there was less than an inch between their bodies, and Hotch watched the blur that was her knee as it made contact with his inner thigh. Emily said something else, and he released her as suddenly as he'd grabbed her, so suddenly she would have fallen had she not caught herself on a desk. Emily looked at him contemptuously, before stalking off after JJ and Garcia.

Two minutes later the three women exited the restroom. JJ and Garcia stopped at the water fountain and refilled JJ's bottle, while Emily stood guard.

Hotch could see all the officers in the bullpen staring at his agents, some hostile, some not. Emily was obviously on her guard. Someone called something and she turned in that direction, anger flashing on her face. JJ's face went immediately stunned, then embarrassed. Garcia actually moved to covered her eyes, then froze, looking to the far left of the room.

Hotch saw himself, Morgan, Reid, and the two case detectives enter the field of view. Saw Morgan reach Emily first, saw Hotch pull her toward him.

Saw the way her body unconsciously relaxed, leaned closer to him, then tensed again as he'd spoken. Saw the way every occupant of the room was focused on their little drama.

Then the screen went blank.

Hotch looked at the blank screen and back to his team, actually at a loss for words. What he wanted to say wasn't the least bit appropriate. What he wanted to do wasn't the least bit legal, was entirely primal, an entirely primitive response to watching Emily being threatened.

He would have to regain control of himself, especially if he wanted to successfully lead this team. He couldn't let his feelings for her interfere with his job. The case had to come first. Then he'd deal with whatever was developing between him and Emily.

"Garcia, I want you to get JJ and head back to the hotel. Send Reid in to me. You'll work from there for the rest of the day. See to it that JJ rests. Morgan, you, Reid, Prentiss, and I will be having a sit down with Chief Palmers. Detectives Kinsey, Allen, in an hour I want you to have all of second and third shift officers here. We'll be giving the preliminary profiles."

"Yes, sir." Allen said, actually shocked at what he'd seen.

"And Detective, after this case is finished we'll be talking to the mayor and the city council about Chief Palmers' actions. Be prepared for some fallout." Hotch added. He moved to stand behind Emily, one hand still wrapped around her arm. His hand rose slightly, moved to gently sooth the red marks.

"I understand." From the expression on his face, Detective Allen fully agreed with Hotch's decision.

It was at least twenty minutes before the man in question returned to the bullpen. Hotch, Reid, Morgan, and Emily were waiting for him. Emily stood firmly between Hotch and Morgan, not dependent on their protection, but on their support. She had a lot to say to that son of a bitch. If she got the chance.

Hotch was even angrier after he'd forced her to tell him what the last comment was that had elicited such a reaction from her, JJ, and Garcia. She'd told him a watered down version—how the officer—unnamed and unseen on the screen—had wanted to know which one of the team had fathered JJ's baby and when would it be Emily's turn. And if they'd obviously given it to their teammates why not give it to him? A few other remarks about dark eyed women being fiery in bed.

Emily refused to identify the officer who'd made the comment. Said she'd wait until Hotch had calmed down considerably before they addressed the issue. It wasn't important, she'd told him, but solving twelve murders was.

He'd backed down reluctantly, feeling Morgan's intense gaze on his face. The other man was watching and cataloging the exchanges between the two agents and was extremely surprised at how intensely the relationship was developing.

He never would have thought Hotch and Emily would change toward each other so quickly. It had been less than a damned month since he'd noticed Hotch watching the younger woman. A month and they were acting more in tuned with each other than any other couple he'd ever seen. More in tuned then Hotch had ever been with High and Mighty Hayley Hotchner.

Maybe only another profiler could fully understand a man like Hotch?

Chief Palmers snarled wordlessly at the group of Feds arranged around his door. "What do you want?"

"Chief Palmers, I'd like you to step into your office, please." Hotch began coldly. "We've something to discuss with you before we give the profiles."

"I'm not so sure I want to discuss anything with you."

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice. Since you refuse to have this discussion in private, we will have it right here. I have undeniable proof that you both verbally and physically assaulted two of my agents, and allowed the same to happen to a third. I can—and will—bring this before a judge—a federal judge, as these are federal agents. Add in that you are impeding the course of my investigation, and it will make a reelection excruciatingly difficult." Hotch told him, his voice never losing that terrible chill.

"I never did a damned thing to your agents. How dare you come into my stationhouse and threaten me?" The man's face turned a livid color of purple as he stepped forward. "I didn't ask you here, didn't need your help! And if you'd learn to control your team better, nothing would have happened. I didn't assault anybody."

"Show him your arm, Emily." Hotch whipped out, moving slightly to allow her room to move forward. Once again, every eye was on them as the drama unfolded. The station house was getting much more crowded, the second and third shifts arriving, including a good half dozen female officers. They all stood around watching the Feds verbally flatten their boss.

The dark haired woman held out her arm and the newly forming bruises were visible. They were obviously finger marks, and the new arrivals wondered just what had happened to cause such tension.

It wasn't long until the story was circulated through the troops gathered. Most of second and third shift were not-so-secretly thrilled at seeing Nasty old Palmers getting an official dressing down. And the guy giving the talking was a frighteningly cold piece of work.

"She got in my way!" Palmers snarled.

"She protected another agent, a woman who is experiencing severe morning sickness due to her pregnancy. How much of a threat was Special Agent Jareau to you? I've seen the tape, Scott." Hotch said, his voice heating rapidly as he moved in verbally for the kill. "Unarmed, pregnant, sick, weighing 110 pounds—in the middle of the bullpen? You went for her with intent to do her physical harm! Supervisory Special Agent Prentiss did what she was trained to do—protected her subordinates, her teammates. You committed a federal crime, Palmers. Tell me right now why I shouldn't arrest you and haul your ass in front of a judge?"

"Nothing was said that they should have found objectionable. If they can't take working in this field, maybe they should get out of it. She assaulted me."

"They're the best at what they do." Hotch said, "And this is my team. Mine. You do not ever threaten any member of my team again. In any shape or form. Do you understand me?"

Palmers' breath was heavy, his chest heaving. He stared at Hotch then looked at Emily, standing just behind her supervisor, dark eyes trained on Palmers. He stepped forward, got right in Hotch's face, shoved him, and growled. "Keep your little dark-eyed whore out of my precinct, you cold bastard. Or I'll show you—and her—threats like you've never seen before! I guarantee she'll like it better than anything you'll ever give her—a fiery little bitch like that! I bet she's hotter than dynamite in the sack!"

Reid's eyes widened, and he jumped instinctively out of Hotch's way. He'd seen that look in Hotch's eyes before, when they'd been trapped in a room with a serial killer for thirteen minutes. A serial killer intent on killing them to prolong his own life. But this—this was so much worse. He couldn't believe that idiot sheriff had dared to call Emily that, to her face, and her supervisor's, to say what he'd said.

"Hotch!" Emily yelled, grabbing for his arm, moving closer.

Morgan moved, too. Moved to pull the son of a bitch Palmers out of the way before Hotch could retaliate. He turned back in time to help Emily stop Hotch from charging at the man. "Hotch, man. We got a case to solve. Now's not the time. We'll deal with him once we're done. I'll haul his ass in myself. Or you can do it. Hell, well let Emily and JJ cuff him, just for shits and giggles."

"You'll not doing anything in my precinct." Palmers yelled, hearing Derek's words. "Not a one of you!"

"The instant he touched Emily, JJ, and when he shoved you, Hotch, it moved into a federal jurisdiction." Reid said quickly, as every eye in the station swung his way. "Technically, we don't need his permission to do a damned thing. I vote we lock him in the holding cell. We can hold him for seventy two hours on each count. Three counts of physical assault, one account of verbal on Agent Prentiss…so four charges. Surely, we'll be done with the case by then."

"Do it." Hotch ordered, looking at Kinsey and Allen. They'd moved to flank the FBI agents when the confrontation had started. Allen had helped Morgan restrain Hotchner, long enough for the SSA team leader to regain control of one of the most coldly phenomenal tempers he'd ever seen.

And he'd thought Aaron Hotchner was a cold, hard ass.

The man had been fine; angry but in control, until the moment Palmers had called SSA Prentiss a 'dark-eyed bitch-whore.' Hotchner had snapped. Cold and fire mingling in his eyes, a dark rage that Allen had a hard time understanding.

Allen and Kinsey moved to snap the cuffs on Palmers, Kinsey enjoying it much more than Allen—which was saying something. She leaned over her Chief and spoke loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, as she clicked the cuffs. "Is this tight enough for you, Scottie? What was it you threatened to do to me with my own cuffs last month? Hmm? Well, who's the tied up little whore, now?"

As her words sunk in a wild cheer ran through the second and third shifts, proving just how despised the man really was.

Another officer stepped forward, a pretty black woman with striking eyes, who relieved him of his gun belt and badge. His weapon was still in his office. "Hey Scottie, boy, how does it feel to be on your knees in front of us bitches, now?"

Five more women—the entire female portion of the force—moved to the forefront, calling various taunts—all with the ring of sexual threats or comments they'd most likely heard from the man in the past—and escorted him down to the holding tank. Not a single male officer moved to interfere. Most didn't want to, and none dared.

Scott Palmers had apparently been a bit more of a bastard than the BAU had realized. Than Allen or the rest of his colleagues on the night shifts had realized.

"Wow." Was the first words out of Emily's mouth. "I really didn't see that coming."

"Me, either." Reid admitted.

Hotch turned toward his team, saw Morgan's hand resting reassuringly on Emily's back, saw Reid rubbing her shoulder, awkwardly. Saw Emily looking toward him warily. Watched her take a few steps toward him, stopping just short of touching him. Watched as she turned her head, checking to see who was watching, and her dark ponytail swung with her movements. "You, ok?"

"Fine. You?" He'd shut down again, becoming the calm and collected Aaron Hotchner he always was. The way he'd always been.

But as she looked closer, she saw the tiniest light of remorse, the tiniest bit of fear. Her breath caught in her throat as she wrapped one hand around his, feeling the recently healed scar from where he'd pulled Rossi from the fire. She wanted to reassure him, to show him that he wasn't alone.

What on earth could Aaron Hotchner possibly be afraid of?

Hotch looked down at her. She was tall, and with her boots she was only half a head shorter than him, putting them on an equal viewing level. Her eyes were vulnerable, big and dark in her pale face. He could tell she was shaky, confused, by all that had occurred in only the last half hour. Could tell that she was worried. By him, about him.

He hated that he'd caused it. Hated that she—and the team—had seen him lose control that way.

Hotch prided himself on his sense of control. On his ability to contain his temper. He'd not wanted to lay in to someone that badly since he'd broken his father's nose for hitting Sean. He'd been fourteen, and his father was dead the next year.

Hotch never lost control, not like that. But when Palmers had insulted her, had shoved him, he'd had one thought. And it wasn't a good one. It wasn't an acceptable thought. Not for the leader of the BAU.

He had to be above reproach at all times. Had to be an exemplary leader above all else. He was willing to break that with Emily. But he'd never wanted her to see him without his unbreakable control.

Aaron Hotchner's biggest fear wasn't that he couldn't save everybody—like Stan Howard had accused—it was that he'd lose his tight reign on his control.

And become as dark as one of the monsters he chased.

Hayley had never came close to ever understanding that. The few times he'd gotten just a little out of hand, she'd freaked. She could never handle the darkness inside him. And now Hotch feared that Emily had seen that darkness. And would run for the hills.

"Hotch—Aaron—it's ok." She whispered, giving him a hug, regardless of who was watching. "It's ok. I understand it. I do."

APOCALYPSE SIX

Hotch smelled strawberries again, as he returned her embrace, briefly. He kissed the top of her head, unthinkingly. Her dark hair was pulled up, sleek, straight, and soft, out of her way. He momentarily missed the feel of it brushing his cheek like it had when he'd slept.

"Are you ok?" He whispered against her ear, before backing up a step.

"Of course, but JJ and Garcia were a little shaken up." Emily admitted. Today's spectacle wasn't something she'd expected, but it wasn't something she hadn't seen before either. Law Enforcement could be a hard world for women. "But I'm glad you all got here when you did. We, uh, should probably get back to work."

"Yes. As soon as Detective Kinsey returns from booking, we'll give the profiles." Hotch said, looking at Morgan and Allen and nodding, signaling it was time for the internal drama to end and the professional catching of some killers to begin.

Ten minutes later Kinsey and the rest of the entire police force arrived for the profile briefing. Emily stood in the middle of the bullpen, authorative, and professional, and began with the first killer. No one truly missed the horrible bruises already forming on her arm, the only evidence of her earlier altercation. Emily was a professional through and through, and most of the officers had to admire that. "The first killer is most likely a white male, mid twenties to early thirties. No older. Most likely a social isolationist. He'll have very little social contacts. Might work from home, as a freelancer or a computer programmer. He's not comfortable with large groups of people, but is extremely familiar with reptiles and their care. He will have few relationships, but if he has any close friends, they will be dominant and he will be easily led."

Morgan took over, "The second UNSUB—and there are definitely two—is a disorganized killer. His victims were blitzed, and killed within one hundred feet of where he found them. He took great risks, he could easily have been caught, stopped, if someone had walked by. He left no signs of even an attempt to hide his crime. This man is in his thirties, white, physically fit, comfortable outdoors. He might even have military training. He certainly has a general knowledge of anatomy—his victims' wounds were precise, and designed to pierce each organ individually—and they did, so he's smart. At this time, we're not sure the killings of Shawna Dravis, Melina Jenkins, and Emma Reinhard are related to the killings at Libstein or Maxwell, Maxwell, and Teague."

"That's it?" One cocky first shifter demanded, in a voice Emily recognized all too well. It was the guy who'd made that last vile comment to her about what she could do to him. "I thought you all were magic, superheroes, who could tell us what underwear the guy buys."

"We are narrowing down a list of suspects as we speak." Hotch said, in a cold tone that surprised nobody. "Profiling is not an exact science, we use every piece of information we are given to identify the UNSUBs. Rarely are we wrong. Any more questions?"

"So if they don't know each other—why? Why kill first nine people and then three more?" A young woman asked, from near the back of the room.

"At this time, we're not clear on the motives for the poisonings. We do know, however, that the UNSUB is not a classic serial killer, instead is a mass murderer. The motive for the second UNSUB appears to be rage." Hotch answered. "As we learn more, we'll pass it on to you."

Reid had one thing to add, "In the case of the poisonings—most poisonings are of two kinds. Either you have the anonymous killer who thinks he's righting a wrong by wiping out a company whose policies they don't agree with, or you have someone who will benefit financially from the deaths. This type of poisoner is usually a female. We don't think this is the case here, so you'll be looking for someone who might have a grudge against the investment firm and the law firm. That's all, and thanks."

Reid was never truly comfortable having everyone's eyes on him. Detective Max Kinsey smiled at him, getting a feel for the genius's personality at last. He'd not had much to say to her, and she sensed he was nervous. He was kind of cute, in a tall, geeky way.

Hotch pulled Emily and Morgan aside, "Reid's on to something. Someone had to have chosen those two firms for a specific reason. Morgan, get a hold of Garcia and have her cross reference clients from both companies. We should have some overlap. Then we'll split the list. Morgan, you and I will take half with Detective Allen. Emily, you, Reid, and Detective Kinsey will take the other."

"Gotcha." Morgan said, flipping open his cell and hitting number two on speed dial. "Hey, you sexy thing! I have a request that only you can fulfill!"

As Morgan talked, Hotch stood quietly, one hand resting casually on the small of Emily's back.

She realized quickly he wasn't even aware of the gesture, and that disconcerted her. Had things changed that quickly between them? So quickly he felt free to touch her whenever he wanted? In front of other law enforcement personnel? In front of the team?

How did she feel about that?

She was glad he was sending her out with Reid instead of him—or Morgan. She knew Reid would respect her privacy and not question her about her and Hotch. If the boy had even noticed what was going on between his supervisor and her. Give her room to process everything that had happened on this case.

Garcia came through quickly, sending everyone's handhelds a list containing six names.

Reid and Emily took three names, Hotch and Morgan the other three. Detectives Allen and Kinsey were relegated to chauffeuring, but they didn't seem to mind.

Then they were off.

Reid sat in the back seat of Det. Kinsey's car, legs folded awkwardly, listening to the women as they spoke.

Emily's voice was soft as she asked, "You'd had trouble with Palmers before, right?"

"Just probably more of the same shit he'd pulled with your team. Comments, brushes, leers. Nothing I'd not experienced in the academy."

"Same shit, different day." Emily said on a sigh, and Spencer's ears perked up. He rarely heard Emily that down about anything. "But Palmers shouldn't be a problem any more."

"That made this one of the most awesome days of my career." Max admitted. "We, uh, took him to holding, and well—stripped him of his uniform."

Emily chuckled lowly, mind picturing how Palmers had endured that indignity. "Wonderful."

"It was satisfying to say the least. Although I must admit, I really would have liked seeing your Hotchner rip into him. That is one terrifyingly dangerous man."

"Hotch?" Emily protested. "Hotch prides himself on maintaining absolute control. He'd not have hit Palmers."

"Yes he would have." Reid added. "If Morgan hadn't stopped him. I've worked for Hotch for six years, Emily, in all sorts of situations, and I've never seen him lose control like that. Even when fighting with a suspect, he's always been deliberate and methodical about it."

"Oh." Emily said, though she knew Reid was right, knew it all along. "It's over now."

"So is Hotchner not that protective of you on a regular basis? He seems like the type who would be." Kinsey said.

"Emily doesn't need protecting." Reid said, eyes meeting Kinsey's in the rearview. "Hotch knows that."

"Really, he sure looked all hot and protective today." Kinsey's tone implied complete skepticism at Reid's insistence. Agent Hotchner had been ready to tear Palmers apart—and Kinsey had an inkling why. "All that coldly leashed fury."

Sometimes it was easier for an outsider to understand a group's dynamics than they thought.

"Hotch is protective of JJ and Penelope." Emily said. "Especially now, with JJ being pregnant. That's all it was."

"JJ wasn't the one Palmers insulted." Kinsey pointed out, "The one whom it was implied was sleeping with Hotchner."

"It's the same concept. Hotch will do anything to preserve the structure of his team." Emily said. "Nothing more. And it was Palmers shoving him that triggered it. Hotch has certainly heard worse from the assholes we deal with every day."

"He, uh, almost gambled JJ away in a poker game, once." Reid said, "Before you joined the team, Emily. Nearly lost her to a serial killer."

"Your boss gambled one of your teammates to a serial killer?" Kinsey asked.

"Um. Yeah, but only after letting JJ deal the cards." Reid explained.

Emily had to laugh at that. "JJ knows how to stack the deck, very skillfully."

"So there was no real danger." Reid said. "Of course, they were in a prison at the time, so nothing would have happened. JJ said Hotch never even blinked. And he had a sniper convinced he was on his side, once."

"I heard about that. Heard he kicked you?" Emily asked.

"Kicked me several times. Until I could reach his ankle holster and take the shot. The whole time he talked in the same cold Hotch voice. I've never really heard him like he was today." Reid said. "I wonder why?"

"Is it because you two, are, you know…" Kinsey looked at Emily, while Reid sat in the backseat confused.

"We're not…you know…" Emily said firmly.

"Really?" Kinsey said. "I never would have guessed it."

"Really. We're here." Emily said as she read the address on the mailbox. "Let's move."

Hotch and Morgan got nothing. The three families they talked to were genuinely puzzled by their presence, no indication that they'd had anything to do with the killings.

"Let's head back to the hotel for a break. Check in with Garcia and JJ." Hotch decided, "Wait for Reid and Emily. Then find dinner."

Garcia and JJ were hard at work searching financial records and all sorts of databases when they entered. They barely looked up, just long enough to nod.

"How did it go? After we left?" JJ asked.

"Palmers is in jail for assault." Morgan started. Hotch interrupted, with an abrupt, I'm going for a walk.

"Wow." Garcia said, as Hotch slammed the door behind him. "What the hell did we miss?"

"Palmers said some pretty raw shit—about Emily. Shoved Hotch, told him to keep Emily out of the precinct or he'd show her a good time—that she'd like better than what she was getting from a cold bastard like Hotch. Something like that."

"And now Palmers is in jail?" JJ asked, her mind running over what Derek had just said. "What charges?"

"Three counts federal physical assault, on count verbal. Called Emily Hotch's 'little dark-eyed whore."

"Wow." Was all JJ could say.

"I thought Hotch was going to kill him. It took both Allen and me to hold him back. He was furious. I've never seen him that way." Morgan admitted.

"Wow."

"Yeah. I don't think he's calmed down, yet." Morgan said, thinking of how quiet his boss had been all afternoon.

"Wow."

"What did Emily do?" Garcia asked.

"Walked right up to Hotch and hugged him—told him she understood. What, I'm not sure."

"Wow."

"What did he do?" Garcia moved closer.

"Hugged her back." Derek paused, dramatically, before grinning wickedly. "Kissed her. I'm not even sure either one of them are aware he did it."

"Wow."

"Double wow." Garcia added.

Emily was getting more and more amused by the second. Detective Kinsey was obviously charmed by boy geniuses. Boy genius didn't catch on.

When the detective suggested that she and Spencer check out a small pizza parlor on the edge of town later that evening, he just looked at her, puzzled. Emily lost it, a full laugh escaping for the first time all day.

Dr. Reid just looked at her, like she'd completely went around the bend. "Emily?"

"Dr. Reid would love to go for pizza with you this evening, detective." Emily said, around her giggles. At her words, Reid's eyes widened comically, and his head swung, looking back and forth between the two women. Once the younger woman's intentional meaning sunk in, Reid's mouth formed an O of surprise, and he actually blushed.

Emily opened the front passenger door before turning and yanking open Reid's. She grabbed her young colleague and pulled him from the vehicle. He didn't resist. Emily leaned back down to look at the other woman. "Pick him up at seven. I'll make sure he's ready."

"Will do. Bye!" Kinsey waved once before driving away. Reid just stood staring after her vehicle. Emily laughed even harder, rushing into the hotel. Knowing he'd eventually catch up. He did, just outside the hotel room door. Emily hurriedly turned the key and pushed the door open. He was two steps behind her.

Hotch was stretched out on his bed, minus jacket and tie, reading files and making notes, when he heard Emily's laughter and the door opening.

"Emily!" Spencer wailed, drawing everyone else's attention. "How could you do that?"

"Relax, Spencer. You'll be fine." Emily's fist was at her mouth, as she tried valiantly to stop her laughter. She sank down on to the pullout beside Hotch's feet. "A little pizza and some conversation about something other than serial killers. How can it hurt?"

"But, but, but."

"Kid, what's goin on?" Morgan demanded from his position beside Garcia at the desk.

"I…Kinsey…Emily…did…"

"Spencer has a date." Emily said, as seriously as she could.

"That you agreed to!"

"Spencer, the poor girl tried for two hours to get you to answer her."

"What? When?"

"Just go take a shower, get ready. You only have ninety minutes." She patted him on the hand. She was in control of herself now, even if her lips twitched ever so slightly. "You don't want to be late. She's picking you up at seven."

The man spun and around and grabbed his ready bag, stalking into the bathroom.

JJ watched the door slam shut before turning to her friend. "What on earth happened out there today?"

"Det. Kinsey kept asking him to dinner, and he never caught on. So I'd had enough, and told her he'd be glad to go."

"No!" Garcia said, coming over to sit behind Emily. Emily turned, bringing her feet up under her, and casually resting her elbow on Hotch's knee. "You didn't!"

"I did. Then I pulled Spencer from the car and told her to pick him up at seven. Should have seen his face when he finally caught on." She did a surprised Spencer impression and JJ and Garcia started giggling. "She's taking him to a pizza parlor across town."

"That's so cute." JJ said. "Good for her—and good for Spencer."

"Poor kid's a nervous wreck." Garcia said, then turned. "Morgan, maybe you'd better go talk to him. Make sure he's not too terrified."

"He's gonna be nervous. We're all nervous when faced with women like you three—and Det. Kinsey." Morgan protested. "Why me?"

"Because you're the big brother type." Garcia explained patiently. "Who else is he going to ask about dating but you and Hotch?"

"It's been more than fifteen years since I've been on a date, Pen." Hotch said from slightly behind Emily. "I'm probably not the best to ask."

Emily didn't know, but she thought the man was doing alright. His hand rested once again on her back—over her shirt this time, and not under—warm and enticing, and she wondered if anyone else had noticed. "Talk to him, Derek. She really likes him."

"Too bad nothing will come of it." Garcia sighed. "Her being clear out here in California."

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Emily started. "She's moving to DC next month. Has an elderly aunt who needs more care. She's volunteered."

"Does Spencer know this?" JJ asked.

"I don't think so."

"Wow."

Spencer was ready for his date, and relatively calm about it, at a quarter till seven. He'd yet to stop glaring at Emily. She stood, straightened his tie, and patted his hair. "You'll be ok, sweetie."

"Emily. I owe you big for this. Don't forget it." He nearly squeaked, growling menacingly.

Emily just laughed. "Have fun. Call home if you're going to be late."

As soon as he left, JJ, Garcia, and Emily burst in to roaring laughter.

It took several minutes for Hotch and Morgan to get them calmed down. By the time they were finished the men were smiling as well. The earlier tension was completely gone, and they settled in, trying to decide what they would do for the rest of the evening.

"I want pizza." JJ said, snickering.

"Wouldn't that freak Reid out?" Garcia joked.

"Seriously. Back to the diner?" Emily said. "I'm starved."

"Mmm. Ice cream." JJ said, in anticipation.

"The diner it is." Hotch said, grabbing the keys off the dresser and tossing one set to Morgan. "Let's go."

They settled into the same round booth, in nearly the same seating. This time, Emily didn't have to press up against Hotch to make enough available room for everyone else. Without Reid there was plenty of space. But she could still feel his warmth, smell his slightly woodsy aftershave. His hand dropped beneath the edge of the table and ran unhurriedly down her thigh. She tried not to shiver as she reached down and grabbed the offending hand, firmly. Enough of that.

He turned his palm up and quickly laced his fingers with hers, holding her palm to palm.

It felt strange. It felt right. It felt…ok. No one else was even aware of it, didn't seem to notice Hotch was suddenly eating with his left hand. That both his and Emily's hands weren't visible.

Or so they thought. Morgan—the only other profiler present—had caught on quick, the instant he'd seen Emily shiver. He smirked, determine to tease her about it later, before enjoying the rest of his chocolate chip ice cream.

Would they ever just figure things out?

After dinner, Morgan, Garcia and JJ stood, ready to head back to the hotel. Hotch kept a tight hold on Emily's hand, keeping her from sliding out of the booth after JJ. "Go on, Morgan. We'll be along shortly."

Emily started, and looked at him warily, as JJ and Garcia exchanged glances. Morgan just nodded and grabbed the dinner ticket. "I'll take care of this, and we'll catch you guys later."

Emily said nothing as they left, her thoughts and her tongue twisted in knots. "Hotch?"

"I thought you might want to talk." Hotch said softly, scooting closer to her.

"I don't know what to say." Emily admitted. "This is completely out of my experience, Hotch."

"Mine, too." He said, softly. "I never expected this to happen. These feelings to exist."

"Are you sure it's not just proximity?" Emily asked. "You've only been divorced for a few months. Have you even seen another woman?"

"Besides you? I've been separated for almost a year, Emily. I've not even thought about another woman in that time. Until South Dakota. You're all I've thought about since that night."

"Oh." This was more than Emily had ever expected, and when it came right down to it, she was never truly comfortable in the relationship world. Never would she have expected this. "I don't know what I think, Hotch. I don't know what I am thinking. I don't know what to think. How this will all fit—if it fits. Can you understand that?"

"Yes." His hand trailed up her inner wrist, sending shivers over her skin. "I've given this a lot of thought, Emily, and I can understand if you need to, too."

"I think I do. I've worked hard to earn my spot on this team—regardless of Strauss's original plan—and I don't want to jeopardize it. Not without being absolutely sure."

"I've thought about it, too." Hotch admitted. "I've not just jumped into this. I really haven't. But I can understand if you need some time."

"I do." Emily said. "I just don't understand this, Hotch. I just don't. JJ, and Garcia, even Morgan—they've all just said to run with it. But I don't think I've ever just ran with anything in my life. I'm not even sure where the race starts—or ends."

***

APOCALYPSE SEVEN

Emily made damn sure to be in the bed with JJ and Garcia before Hotch finished his shower. She was not experiencing a repeat of the night before. No matter how much she wanted to.

She knew the two blondes were dying of curiosity, but she didn't have time to tell them what had occurred.

Did Hotch expect she'd just be able to jump into a flaming hot affair with him because he suddenly decided he wanted her?

She didn't think so, although she had to admit seeing him so determined was slightly erotic. She'd seen him intense before, but never had his sights been set on her.

Had never been in that kind of relationship. Did she want that?

Could she handle a relationship with a supervisor? Could she handle a relationship with a man like Aaron Hotchner? In front of the team, at least? What did she really know about him?

She knew he was the most controlled person she'd ever met, that he prided himself on that control. Knew that he had depths to him, that few—if any—were ever allowed to see. Knew that he'd willingly die for any member of the team, that he'd protect his family with every breath he had.

Knew that while he was married to Hayley he'd valued her more than anything. Had a sneaking suspicion that Hayley had never bothered to look beneath his surface to the wounded man lurking inside. Hotchner held himself to impossibly high standards, both personally and professionally.

And he'd decided she fit within those standards.

Now she had to decide how she felt about that.

Hotch was the only one awake when Spencer unlocked the door. The boy was barefoot, carrying sand-saturated shoes and dark socks. "Reid?"

Spencer started, nearly dropped his shoes. "Hotch, you awake?"

"Yeah. How was your evening?"

"Ok. We, uh, had pizza. Then went for a walk." the boy didn't look up.

"On the beach? Sounds nice." Hotch felt like a father with a teenaged son breaking curfew to be with a girl.

"Yes."

"Good."

"What did you all do?"

"The girls watched a movie. Derek was on the computer, I read." Hotch's lips twitched at how nervous the younger man was.

"Good, good. We'll, I, uh, I'm going to take a quick shower." Spencer was so horribly awkward Hotch's lips twitched. He knew just looking at his subordinate that the younger man had gotten lucky—or very close to it.

Before Hotch could reply, Spencer was closing the bathroom door. Hotch read some more before sudden noises filled his ears. He knew almost immediately what it was. Someone was having a nightmare—and he knew instinctively who it was. Emily tossed on her pillow, and he could see her leg move as she jerked toward Garcia. The blonde woman would feel it in the morning.

The bathroom door opened and Spencer came to stand beside Hotch. "She had one last night, too, didn't she?"

"She's had them every night since Rossi. JJ said she can't seem to shake them. And that they're getting worse."Derek said from his bed. He was a light sleeper, and every sound jerked him out of sleep. "Garcia's going to be bruised as hell in the morning."

"We should move her to Hotch's couch." Spencer said, resolutely. "He's got the room."

"She'd probably object." Hotch admitted. He knew he'd probably over stepped, just a little with her.

"Still," Morgan said, almost slyly. "There's room over there—and I doubt La Montaigne or Lynch would appreciate JJ or Garcia coed bunking. Process of elimination, man. Of course, you could bunk with Lover Boy here—and I'll bunk with Emily."

Hotch shot him a look that Morgan had no trouble interpreting.

Morgan laughed, "Thought you'd say that."

Hotch stared down at the woman and nodded. He pulled the blankets back, exposing Emily. Tonight she wore short gym shorts, and that red tank again. It had ridden up, showing a creamy expanse of white skin.

Sometimes, Hotch thought, as he slipped one arm beneath her long legs and the other under her shoulders, this job was absolutely wonderful.

Derek and Spencer moved out of his way, as he hoisted her to his chest. She sighed, and tucked her face into the side of his neck.

He carried her the half dozen feet to his pullout, and Morgan quickly pulled back the blankets. He lowered her, and she immediately flipped onto her stomach, one hand shooting out and fisting around Hotch's pillow. He'd noticed she slept like that more than any other position. It translated into her hand wrapping around his opposite shoulder, with her curled up against him. He didn't mind in the least, and he knew that soon it would be him she was holding tightly to her, instead of that pillow.

Derek snatched the third pillow from the girls' bed and handed it to Hotch, as the other man slid under the blankets next to Emily.

Soon they were down for the night, and Hotch was wrapped around Emily again, holding both their nightmares at bay.

PRENTTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCH

Emily woke the next morning in a totally different bed then the one she'd made a point of falling asleep in.

Disconcerting, but she immediately recognized the arms wrapped around her. Her eyes flew open, checking to see if he was awake.

He'd awakened the minute she'd started stirring. He grinned, a boyish expression she'd only seen on rare occasions. "Good morning. Sleep well?"

"How did I get here?"

"Morgan suggested we do Garcia a favor and save her from days of bruises. Spencer said it was an appropriate distribution of sleeping space." Hotch told her, "You should go back to sleep."

"So should you." Emily yawned, mind still foggy, not fully remembering that she'd decided she needed time before finding herself like this again. "Do you think Palmers is still in lock up?"

"Not likely. The charges probably won't stick. But we had to show what was acceptable."

"He shouldn't have shoved you. He had to know that."

"It wasn't shoving me, it was his blatant disregard for the members of my team. You. And what he said. That wasn't acceptable."

"It's nothing I've not heard before." Emily admitted. "Did you know Kinsey and the rest stripped him down completely before throwing him in holding?"

"Appropriate. I, uh, think Reid had a good time tonight."

"What time did he finally get back?" Her eyes drifted closed for a moment.

"Nearly two. Walk on the beach."

"Good for him. She's a good kid, and seems very accepting. He needs someone who will see him for himself. Even for just a little bit." Emily said, head pillowed on his chest. "He's too isolated."

"Aren't we all." Hotch said, ruefully.

"So I wonder if he's forgiven me?"

"I think that's safe bet." Hotch smiled, "He looked like a kid when he came in. Young, excited. It was good."

"I'm glad." She said, smothering another yawn. "We all need that, now and then."

"You should go back to sleep." He whispered, one hand stroking her arm like he'd fantasized about. Her skin was softer than the sheets they laid on and he unconsciously repeated the gesture. "I want to identify these bastards and get back to Washington."

"Me, too. I miss Kurt." Emily admitted. "I'm used to hearing him purr while I sleep. Funny, I've only had him for six weeks."

"Does it help? With the nightmares?" Hotch asked. He'd not known, she'd not shown him, that she struggled. Not in the entire time she'd been with the BAU. And he'd never looked closely enough to see it.

That was his fault. He'd never let himself get close enough to her to notice when she struggled. But three weeks ago, his world had changed. And one thing Aaron Hotchner didn't do was hesitate when he knew what his objective was.

Hadn't he joined the cast of Pirates of the Pendants to gain Hayley's attention so long ago? He'd been nothing more than a green kid back then—now, as an adult man, he knew exactly what he was playing at. And how to get what he wanted.

And this was one game he was determined to win, he thought, as she drifted back to sleep. He'd give her two weeks to reconcile to the idea—and then he'd move forward, no holds barred.

He'd get what he wanted—and what he wanted was the woman sleeping in his arms.

PRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCH

Emily and Spencer had one more name on their list that they'd been unable to locate the day before. Thomas Corison was a former employee of Libstein and Associates. He'd also been a client of Maxwell, Maxwell, and Teague, Attorneys-at-Law.

He'd lost his medical mal-practice suit, and his Keogh Retirement Account had suspiciously been emptied, three weeks before the murders.

Emily and Spencer—along with a relatively quiet Max Kinsey—really wanted to talk to Thomas Corison.

"This is the building." Max said, softly. Her eyes would glance off Spencer's face, and move away quickly. Emily wondered what had happened to make the normally confident young woman so nervous.

Spencer would look at her and his cheeks would turn red, and a small smile would touch his lips.

Emily was intrigued. She observed her younger colleague as they exited the vehicle in front of the three story commercial building Corison owned at the edge of town. It was not in the best of shape, its fire escape leading to the roof, old and bent. She couldn't interpret Spencer's behavior, but Max was definitely embarrassed.

Emily knocked on the door, hand resting on her badge, near her weapon. It never hurt to be prepared. A man answered the door, around the age of thirty. He was unkempt, slighter of build, but tall.

To Emily it was like looking at a dirty, less-educated version of Reid. "Are you Thomas Corison? I'm SSA Prentiss with the FBI. Can you step outside please? We have a few questions."

The man nodded, nothing aggressive in his manner. His hand rose to push the door open. Reid and Kinsey stepped back to give him room. Emily stayed where she was, taking control of the interview immediately.

Corison's eyes flashed, the only warning Emily had. The door was shoved quickly, nearly banging off her boots, as Corison jerked out the door. As he ran by, Emily moved, pursuing him almost immediately.

One thought ran through her head as she followed him up the fire escape, which groaned under both their weights. She was glad she'd dressed down for the day—in fatigues and boots, if she'd been in heels it would have been an extremely sucky day.

It took them two minutes to reach the roof, and Emily heard her radio crackle as Spencer called in the pursuit status to the rest of the town's force.

Emily was within four yards of Corison at all times. But he was always just that little bit out of her reach.

Hotch, Allen, and Morgan were arranged around Garcia's desk in the police bullpen. She'd found several hinky financial records that she'd brought to their attention, and they were processing the information.

"Detective Allen, sir?" A timid voice asked from behind them. Hotch and the other two men turned to see the city's only crime tech, clutching a sheaf of reports. "I believe I've found the method of delivery."

"Go on, Mark." Allen encouraged.

"I found nine coffee mugs, sir. Each had been re-glazed, re-enameled with a white enamel. In that enamel were traces of Mojave venom."

"White enamel?" Morgan asked, "What about the red substance found on the three stabbing victims bodies?"

"I was getting to that, sir. Red enamel, same manufacturer."

"Red enamel, and white enamel—that's it? All we've really got to go on?" JJ asked, as the loud crackle of a two dozen police radios bulleted around the room.

No one moved. Only the LEO's used that particular frequency. The BAU froze, recognizing the voice that came over the waves. "In pursuit of murder suspect! Corner of Nineteenth and Jackson. Pursuing across the roof tops! Repeat—SSA's Prentiss and Reid in pursuit!"

"Garcia! Find cameras in that area!" Hotch barked. "Morgan, you and Allen, let's move!"

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Spencer was less than twenty feet behind Prentiss, thirty behind the suspect. Kinsey had taken the back of the building, cutting Corison off if he made to go down the back escape.

Emily could see the man's underwear band, the bright red strip an unbelievable target. Funny-that that's what she focused on as she vaulted over the junk strewn over the rooftop. She'd shouted at him to stop, but of course he disregarded her orders, weaving in and out of stacks of packing supplies and pallets.

Emily was determined not to lose this idiot, and she put on a burst of speed that halved the distance separating them. Her foot came down on the wooden slat roof, the sounds of her footfalls echoing less than a beat behind Corison's. Matching the beats of her heart.

She could almost see the stitching on the tags of those bright red boxers as she reached forward, could almost hook one hand in the dirty denims the man wore around his narrow hips. Her foot raised as she prepared to make one more leap.

Her foot hit the wooden roof, and then the roof wasn't beneath her. Her hand gripped the barrel of her weapon as her heart stuttered once at the realization that she—and the suspect—were going down!

Spencer was fifteen feet behind Emily, breathing heavily, hand gripping his weapon steadily and tightly—just like Hotch had taught him a few years ago.

He'd just cleared the last pile of old skid pallets and saw Emily reach for the UNSUB, the irony of the smaller woman making the take down instead of him, not lost on him. Morgan would rib him mercilessly, when this was over.

Then right before his eyes, the floor beneath Emily's feet was gone. Emily was gone. And so was Corison. Gone. Her voice rang out, a shriek of terror, echoed by the UNSUB. A shout that Spencer recognized as his own.

Spencer's hand shook as it went immediately to his radio. His voice excited and broken as he shouted into it. "Agent down! Officer Down! Roof collapsed, nineteenth and Jackson! Repeat, officer down!"

Seconds later, Kinsey's voice repeated Spencer's words and added, "Need medical assistance immediately! Corner of Nineteenth and Jackson! Officer down, possible internal injuries! Situation critical! Need assistance immediately!"

Allen floored the gas pedal, the fear in the vehicle a tangible cloud. They all knew who the officer down most likely was. Emily's voice hadn't come over the radio.

And Hotch had sent her out with Spencer.

He sat, one hand wrapped around the door handle so tight his short nails left marks. It was the only outward sign of his emotional turmoil.

He was the ruthless, contained, emotionless team leader that Morgan found so familiar. It was only the eyes that gave the other man away. Morgan hoped to never see that particular look in Hotch's eyes ever again.

Morgan looked away, as the vehicle sped past fifteenth and Jackson street intersection. Morgan—the man who was so unclear on his religious beliefs—said a quick and heartfelt prayer that Emily—a woman he loved equally as much as he did his sisters—would be ok.

Spencer scrambled to the edge of the fifteen foot gaping hole that Emily had disappeared into. Dust and debris flew all around as he called for his colleague.

She didn't answer. His hand was sweaty, so badly his weapon nearly slid out of his grip as he rested it on the jagged board he rested on. He wouldn't do Emily any good if he fell on her.

Kinsey crept carefully to the hole, coming from the other direction. "Do you see her?"

"No! Wait, there! Back left, on those rafters!" Spencer said, the dust was settling and he could see the bright purple of the blouse Emily had been wearing. "I see her! Emily! Emily!"

Max and Spencer could hear the sirens in the background. Spencer prayed they'd get there faster.

Something moved below them and Spencer thought for a moment that it was Emily.

It wasn't. Thomas Corison stood over Emily, and Spencer could see she wasn't moving. Blood was visible down her shirt, down the side of her pale face, matted in the dark curls.

"FBI, do not move!" Spencer yelled, grip tightening on his weapon. "Step away from her and put your hands where I can see them!"

Corison didn't comply. Spencer's eyes caught the flash of a blade, bright in the midst of the dust and shadowed third story. He bent over the unconscious woman, and Spencer saw his hand tangle in Emily's hair.

Watched as he tilted Emily's head back and raised the blade closer.

"Corison! Do not move!" Spencer called one last time in a firm voice that didn't betray the fear in the pit of his stomach.

The man actually laughed, before bending even closer to Emily.

Spencer didn't hesitate. He took the shots. Three shots just like Hotchner had taught him.

Corison went down, two feet from Emily. Knife still gripped in his hand.

Emily still hadn't moved.

"I'm going down there." Spencer said, as he began moving.

"Spencer, wait!" Max said. "Stay to the left, the right looks rotted."

"Go down, make sure the responders know what happened. They might want to go in through the stairs, not the roof." Spencer ordered, his voice rising and falling in more stereotypically Reid fashion.

"Be careful! And, good shot!" Max was already on her way down to street level.

Spencer took her advice, moving to the south of Emily's position. Several half broken boards were within reach and he edged his way down, as quickly and as carefully as he could in the circumstances. He was thankful she'd landed only fifteen or so feet below the roof line.

The last board broke beneath him and he caught his full weight with his left arm. He felt the muscle jerk, felt his shoulder pop as his body twisted. He ignored the pain.

He'd ignored pain before. Ignored it when Hinkle had him bound hand and foot.

He could do it again.

He kicked the knife from the UNSUB's fist, bent down to quickly check for a pulse. There wasn't one, and that was the last Spencer thought of Thomas Corison.

His every thought from then on was for Emily. She still hadn't moved, her body more still than Spencer had ever seen it.

She wasn't moving like a Laspeyresia saltitans now.

Spencer knelt beside her, one hand reaching for her neck, checking for a pulse.

His breath tightened in his chest, as his hand made contact with the smooth skin of her neck. Even though he wasn't sure he believed, his lips formed a prayer he'd not heard since he was a young boy, as he pressed slightly, feeling for any sign of life.

APOCALYPSE EIGHT

Hotch was the first one out of the car when it jerked to a halt at the curb. Morgan was less than three seconds behind him. First responders were clearing the building—an empty office structure owned by Corison's family—and still more were clattering up the fire escapes.

Max Kinsey waited at the top of the south structure. "Wait! Not everyone can be up here! The roof's been compromised structurally! Four of you, no more—the smallest you got! We can't risk the roof caving any more! The rest of you go in through the third floor corridors!"

Hotch heard her words and jerked into the building on the heels of the paramedics. His one thought was finding Emily. His one prayer was that she was still alive.

Emily's eyes popped open and in the dim light they looked completely black. She scared the shit out of Reid as he leaned over feeling for a pulse.

He jerked back, his body at an awkward angle as he leaned over his colleague. "Thank God! Where do you hurt?"

"Shorter list would be where do I not hurt." She whispered. "What the hell happened? Did I miss the party?"

"I think, Emily. You're about to be the party." Spencer said, hearing the rushing din of first responders as they ran the halls. "Can you move your toes?"

"Yeah. Let me see." Emily made a concerted effort to do a pain check. "Bruised ribs, landed on my side—hard, and one hell of a headache. My hand hurts, landed on the grip of my gun. Where is it? Did we get the bastard?"

"Yeah. We got him." Spencer didn't tell her the bastard had almost gotten her first. His eyes landed on the weapon she'd dropped, found it nearly a yard from her foot. He grabbed it carefully, slipping the safety quickly. She took it with her uninjured hand and reholstered it, gingerly.

"Good." She moved slowly, grabbing Spencer's hand when the rotted beam she'd landed on creaked alarmingly.

"Dr. Reid!" Max Kinsey yelled down, "What's the situation? We've got help coming!"

"Stable!" Reid yelled back. "But the floor here is rotted, too! I don't think we'll be leaving through the doors! Agent Prentiss is awake and lucid—and moving like a Laspeyresia saltitans larvae!"

"A what?" The freckle faced detective yelled down, getting ready to raise her radio to her mouth.

"A Mexican jumping bean!" Spencer yelled.

"Gotcha!" Max depressed the radio button. "Situation downgraded from critical to stable. Agent Prentiss is awake and I quote "moving around like a Mexican jumping bean'. These FEDs are weird, boys! Let's get them out of there! Third floor responders, be advised the flooring is precarious, proceed with extreme caution! Repeat, extreme caution!"

Hotch was nearly to the third floor when the radios crackled. He'd never heard a more welcome sound in his life. The first responders stopped them at the doors leading into the section where their agents were.

Hotch wanted to protest, but when the men said they could cause the floor to give way under both Spencer and Emily, Hotch turned quickly and rushed the last flight of stairs to the roof. He'd be there, he told Morgan and the responders, when they brought her up, no one was going to stop him.

No one tried.

The town had only eight paramedics and emergency responders, and twelve firefighters. Everyone always responded to an officer down call. Four of those twenty people were female, and were light enough to cover the roof without it caving any further. They surrounded the gaping hole and looked at the couple beneath.

"Sir. One of us is coming down." A voice yelled to Spencer.

"Stay to the south, the boards are a little more sturdy." Spencer responded, as a female firefighter followed much the same path he had.

"Ok, can you climb back out? We're lowering a ladder as soon as it's up here." The woman said.

"Yes." He didn't tell her his shoulder felt like it was now on fire. It had only been a ten or fifteen foot drop. But he only needed one hand to climb a ladder. "But what about Emily?"

"She's going out of here on a backboard."

"No she's not." Emily said firmly, moving to stand. "She's fully capable of getting out of here, with just a little help."

"We've got one ready to be lowered, if you're not capable of climbing out, ma'am. We'll need to have you looked at."

"It was a ten foot fall." Emily protested, "I once fell out a four story window."

"On a case?" Spencer asked.

"Metallica concert. 1987." Emily admitted. "My mother didn't approve."

"Still, ma'am. You're still bleeding, and you may have other injuries."

"Standard procedure." Spencer told her. "And you know Hotch will insist."

Emily's face immediately showed a hunted expression. She'd not even thought of her supervisor's reaction to all of this. And she had a sneaking suspicion he'd be waiting topside.

Morgan was getting impatient. He was ready to see Emily for himself, and knew Hotch felt the same way. But he also understood that the responders had to ensure everyone's safety, before pulling anyone out of the building.

It didn't make it easier on anybody waiting.

Det. Allen clamored up the rusted fire escape and stood behind the two men. Kinsey saw him and made her way carefully across the roof. "Kinsey, how 'bout a sit-rep?"

"Lowering the ladder, now. Superficial injuries, probably. She's insisting on climbing out on her own steam. Five minutes tops. You'll, uh, need to get the ME down here for Corison."

"What the hell went down up here, Max?" Allen asked, softly.

"We identified ourselves, thought he was coming out to talk. He shoved the door in our direction, it hit SSA Prentiss. Corison took off, Prentiss after him. Dr. Reid and I were right behind. He climbed the north fire escape. I went to the south to cut him off. I reached the roof, saw Corison and Prentiss coming from that direction. Reid was moving west, attempting to cut off Corison's route, trap him between the three of us. Agent Prentiss was almost close enough to pull him down. She moves to grab him, pulls him down slightly and the roof goes."

Morgan swore, his mind having no trouble imagining what it had been like. "Then what? The collapse kill Corison?"

"Uh, no. Dr. Reid did."

"What?" Hotch growled. "What happened?"

"We were looking over the edge, trying to determine where Prentiss and Corison were. Your agent was unconscious. Corison had a knife, sir. Reid identified himself, told Corison to freeze, when he refused, moved closer to Prentiss, Reid took the shot. It was a good, clean shoot." Her words were firm, frank, and Hotch and Morgan had no trouble believing her. "He then went down to check on SSA Prentiss. She awoke while he was examining her."

"Thank God." Morgan said, heartfelt. "Good boy, Reid."

Activity around the hole increased as first Reid's head was visible, followed by his tall, lanky body, then Prentiss's dark head. He turned and along with the nearest first responder, lent a hand down to the older agent.

Everyone froze as another ominous creak sounded under the two agents' weight.

Hotch's body tensed, and Morgan moved closer, his every instinct screaming at him to go to his teammates. He could see the bright red blood covering Prentiss's purple shirt. Saw the way she kept a hand pressed carefully to her left side. Hotch cursed beside him, and Morgan could actually see his supervisor trembling.

Morgan once again admired the man's phenomenal control. If the girl Morgan had been panting over appeared before him looking like that, he'd be at her side in an instant. Hotch was remaining as professional as he could. More than Morgan ever would.

Morgan also knew that Emily would expect Hotch to behave as her supervisor first, her whatever he was personally, last. Emily was an agent through and through, and he couldn't see her ever letting Hotch do anything to jeopardize that. Hotch most likely knew that, too.

The first responders surrounding Emily spread out, moving to more evenly distribute their weight. The female firefighter who'd climbed down to Emily and Spencer stayed right at the pair's sides, one hand raised to help support Emily as she limped across the building.

Toward the fire escape. Toward Morgan. Toward Hotch.

Reid walked beside her, obviously concerned, and it wasn't until he halfway to them that Morgan realized the boy was holding his left arm at an awkward angle. His face was pale, eyes large, but he didn't falter.

Morgan was proud of the kid. From what Kinsey had said, Reid had done good. And it was Emily walking out of that hole on her own two feet instead of the UNSUB.

Nothing could be more good than that, as far as Morgan was concerned.

Emily stopped at the mouth the fire escape, two feet away from Morgan and Hotch. Morgan could see the pain in her eyes, pain and embarrassment at being in the center of such drama. Being in the limelight—for any reason—wasn't really Emily Prentiss's cup of tea. She'd rather just be out doing her job. Morgan could understand that.

Hotch stepped forward, one hand rising to push the blood-caked, and dust-covered hair off her forehead, exposing the large gash on the right side of her temple. It was two inches from the faint scar from where Joseph Smith had hit her with a two by four. This time, there was twice as much blood.

She cradled her right hand gently in her left, and Hotch could see that it was swelling. She'd probably broken something. But she was alive, and standing before him. His voice was low, as he spoke, "Let's get you to the hospital, Em."

She nodded, moved a bit closer, admitted, "I think I'm going to need a bit of help with the stairs."

Hotch didn't hesitate, didn't have to stop to think—he bent down and gently lifted her into his arms, tucked her head tenderly on his shoulder and carried her the thirty plus feet to the street below.

"This isn't exactly what I meant." She told him, ruefully, aware of every eye on them—responders, firefighters, news cameras, rubberneckers and bystanders—Morgan and Reid. "People are watching."

"You really want to walk down thirty plus feet of rusted, rickety stairs?" His tone was reasonable, almost professional, but the look in his eyes was anything but.

"No." Emily said, wincing. "Thanks for the lift, Hotch."

"Care to tell me what happened up there?" His whisper was soft against her ear as he carried her to the waiting ambulance. It was standard procedure with any injury that the agent be thoroughly examined. And she'd need that hand—and her head—looked at.

"I had him. I was close enough to grab him, saw the stitching on his damned underwear." She said in disgust. "Then the roof was gone."

"Do you remember anything else?"

"Reid's eyes." Emily smirked. "He was leaning over me when I opened mine and I think I scared him."

"Do you remember what happened to the UNSUB?" Hotch asked, sitting her on the gurney. The EMT immediately immobilized her right hand, while the second started wiping the blood and dirt off her face.

"No. Did the fall kill him?" Spencer hadn't let her look toward the body, had made her focus on him, and then the firefighters arrived. There wasn't time after that to worry about Corison.

"Reid took the shot, Em. Corison came after you with a knife. Left Reid no choice." Hotch's words were flat as he repeated what Kinsey had said. He didn't want to be the one to give her more nightmares, but he knew it came with the job.

"Dammit." Emily swore, both from his words and the antiseptic the EMT patted her head with. "So what next?"

"You get checked out, and then back to the hotel for you." Hotch insisted, climbing in the ambulance and moving to the front, out of the EMTs way.

"Sounds wonderful." Emily said, lying back on the gurney, her body finally relaxing, as the EMT worked. "Did you guys learn anything today?"

"Method of delivery. Coffee mugs re-enameled with Mojave venom. Enamel matches same general composition as the red substance found on the stabbing victims. And that's all we're saying about the case." He told her, his warm hand wrapping around her uninjured one. "You scared me."

Emily closed her eyes as the EMT cut the bloody purple tee from her body, revealing her black bra beneath. Revealed contusions already forming. It didn't even occur to her that Hotch could see her as well. "Scared me, too. God, Hotch…"

Morgan insisted Spencer get his arm checked out, and assigned Detective Kinsey to drive the younger man. He'd not missed the way the girl's eyes had seemed drawn to Spencer whenever the good doctor wasn't looking.

Was there something in the air? Derek wondered, shaking his head. First JJ hooks La Montaigne, Garcia hooks that guy Lynch, Emily and Hotch were getting all love birded up, and now Spencer'd found a freckled face detective who appreciated wonder boy geniuses.

What the hell was a guy supposed to think? He got that the girls would be prime targets for the guys they met in this job. They were smart, beautiful, funny, engaging, and successful at what they did. Morgan wasn't blind to that.

Hotch and Emily had blown his whole preconceived ideas about both of them out of the water. He'd known Emily was lonely—though she'd never admitted it. And Hotch was one of those men who needed to be with a woman to remind himself that the world wasn't always the dark, horrific place they inhabited during cases. And he'd picked Emily as that woman. He wondered briefly if she knew what all that would mean. And it was good. Complex, terrifyingly quick, dramatic, and surprising. If it had thrown the rest of the team for a loop, he could only imagine what it had to have done to the two people most involved.

Hotch was an all or nothing kind of guy. Derek had known that for years—and it had been reiterated when Strauss had suspended the guy. Hotch had made a decision the day he'd defied Hayley's wishes and returned to the BAU—Emily at his side.

Derek wondered if he shouldn't have seen the signs then.

Detective Allen and some of his second shift officers were carefully canvassing the building, looking for indisputable proof of Corison's guilt.

Morgan was following Hotch's orders, overseeing the locals' investigation. Hopefully, they'd be able to wrap this case up and get back to Washington. Get Emily, JJ, and Garcia out of this bum-ass town.

"Detective Allen, man you gotta see this!" A voice called from a window above where Morgan and Allen were standing. "We got more bodies!"

Morgan was the first one up the stairs.

They were taking Emily for x-rays when Hotch's cell phone rang. "Hotchner."

"Hey, man. How is she?" Morgan demanded.

"Bruised. Slightly concussed. Doing x-rays to check for broken bones, now. What have you found?"

"Found the knife Corison was holding to Prentiss's neck when Spencer took the shot. White enamel handle, man. We, uh, found twelve more bodies, Hotch."

"COD?" Hotch forced himself to think about the case and not about the image of Emily helpless with a knife at her throat.

"Six appear to have starved to death, the other six is as of yet to be determined. Looks like some sort of bee stings." Morgan's voice was puzzled and Hotch had to admit he echoed the same emotion. "So do we have a third UNSUB?"

"I don't know. How long have the victims been dead? Anything stand out?"

"Some of them are kids, Hotch. Been dead at least eight weeks." Morgan said, knowing how the cases with kids hit his boss hard. "But this town's not reported any missing children in eighteen years."

"Was there any IDs?" Hotch asked. "Anything else to go on?"

"The twelve bodies were manacled, man. With steel shackles that have been enameled black. This one's above me, man. White, red, and black enamel. Poisons, stabbings, starvation, and bees. It just doesn't make sense."

"Have Garcia find out whatever she can on Corison. Have her track down the manufacturer and distributer of the enamel." Hotch ordered. "Where's Reid?"

"They took him to the out-patient treatment center a few blocks from Corison's place." Morgan said. "He wrenched his shoulder climbing down to Emily. He'll be fine, man. Should be back here in a few minutes to go over everything that happened."

"I didn't realize. I'll speak to him later. Anything else I should know?"

"Garcia's actually hacked the security cameras for Corison's building, man. We got the whole collapse and shooting on video." Morgan paused, not sure if he should tell Hotch the rest.

"Tell me, Morgan."

"Seconds, Hotch. If Spencer had been a few seconds later, Corison would have slit her throat—and laughed while he did it."

"God." Hotch rubbed his face, wearily. "Should I tell her?"

"And give her more nightmares?" Morgan asked. "I don't know. But she'll probably want to see the tapes."

"She doesn't need to see them, but I will tell her they exist. How can I not? She has the right to know what happened." Hotch said, knowing what he would expect if their roles were reversed. "I'll be taking her back to the hotel once she's released. Her concussion isn't serious enough to warrant an overnight stay. Have JJ and Garcia head back over there. I don't want her alone. As soon as I get her settled with them, I'll meet you and Spencer back at Corison's."

"Gotcha, Hotch." Morgan said.

"And Morgan—have Garcia send the video to my handheld. I need to see what happened."

"You sure you want to? There's nothing on it that changes anything, Hotch." Morgan protested.

"Morgan—just have her send the files." Hotch hung up the phone and followed the signs leading to radiology.

He'd watch the tapes himself, before telling her what happened—before giving her yet another nightmare.

APOCALYPSE NINE

Herb Keller said:

You'd have thought we threatened to release the four horsemen of the Apocalypse.

Garcia's fingers trembled over the keys before she sent the file to her boss. It was as equally bad as it had been watching Reid dying on camera, then coming back. She'd been so still—Garcia and JJ had known she was dead. They'd watched her fall—first from the roof's security camera, and second, from the third floor's obviously antiquated camera. They'd known it wasn't good the instant the dust had settled.

Then that filthy bastard had grabbed her, lowered the knife. Garcia couldn't breathe. Had closed her eyes against the tears. Felt JJ's hand gripping her shoulder so tight. Heard the sounds of the other woman's tears, as they waited.

Then they'd had to watch it again to send it to Morgan. Then again to send it to Hotch. JJ'd stopped watching, but Garcia hadn't. She'd watched it over and over. She'd watch it over and over again that night, too. Just like she sometimes watched Reid over and over in her sleep.

She'd been the first to realize if Spencer had been three seconds later, Emily would be dead. Dead, instead of at the hospital getting x-rays.

Emily Prentiss never came that close. Not in the entire time she'd been in the BAU. Even Joseph Smith hadn't had her down for long. Even falling over a forty foot cliff hadn't gotten her to slow down. Once again it showed how tenuous at best their lives really were. Penelope was well aware of that. She still refused to even enter the coffee shop where she'd met Battle.

They'd been at the hotel, silent and worried, for nearly an hour when a soft knock sounded. JJ opened the door quietly, exhausted and subdued. This case was turning into one of those nightmare ones that changed the entire team forever. Changed the dynamics just like Hinkle had Spencer, the way Frank and Jane had changed Gideon—the way New York had changed Rossi. JJ just didn't know how much more the team could stand.

Hotch stood in the doorframe, a sleeping Emily in his arms. "She fell asleep in the car."

"Oh, my poor jumping bean!" Garcia wailed as loud as one could in a whisper.

Hotch actually smiled wearily at the description. Apparently—JJ was jelly bean and Emily jumping bean for this case. Penelope's nicknames changed with the cases.

It was just one of those things the team counted on. One of the things the team needed.

He carried Emily over to the pullout, making no pretense that she'd be sleeping anywhere else. Not tonight, and not anymore.

Aaron Hotchner's feelings were no secret, not anymore. Not from his team, the people he considered his family—with the exceptions of Sean and Jack. Hayley no longer had a place in his circle, and he hadn't thought about her in days—almost weeks. Forever.

Garcia pulled the blankets back, JJ moved in to pull off Emily's boots. Her favorite pair of charcoal fatigues were ruined, and Hotch had every intention of just letting her sleep in the hospital scrubs a nurse had donated. They had frolicking puppies and big orange kittens on them. Emily'd laughed—from the pain medication, no doubt—and named the cats all Kurt, and the puppies all Clooney. Soon the blanket was tucked up around her, and the three colleagues stood staring down at her. The same way they'd stared at Rossi a few weeks back. The way they'd stared down at Penelope a few months before that. And Reid, and at Elle before that.

It had once again been a little too close for comfort.

Hotch didn't want to leave her, but the rational part of him insisted he must. It was much like what he felt every weekend when he returned Jack to his mother after a visit. An emptiness and sense of dissatisfaction, and loss. But…different, too. There was nothing the least bit parental in the way he felt toward Emily.

The contained man didn't know what to do with these new emotions. Didn't know which direction to release them.

"JJ, I'm headed back over to the scene. If she wakes up, she's to take this antibiotic. This is a pain pill, take with crackers. They said it's safe even though she has a mild concussion. Don't let her argue about taking them. I'll be back as soon as I can." His words were soft as he handed the prescription bag to the blonde on his left. "Garcia, keep running everything you can think of. We need to find out if Corison had any associates—Morgan's determined there is a third UNSUB out there somewhere. And I want the bastards."

"Yes, sir." Garcia said, stuttering slightly. Hotch had yet to look away from Emily.

Finally, the man left abruptly, turning his back on the injured woman and the two blondes. His steps were filled with purpose, his shoulders back with determination.

Garcia had only one thought as the door closed behind him, and she voiced it aloud. "Bet he's got his Superman costume on under that suit. Hotchner's going hunting."

Hotch, Morgan, and Reid worked straight through dinner. Kinsey brought them pizza and sodas, dropped it on the table beside them. Left to repeat the action with JJ and Garcia.

The FBI was going merciless on these UNSUBS and their intensity was more than a little frightening. Twenty-four victims, one UNSUB, dead. Two agents wounded in the LOD.

Hotchner and his pack were hunting. And they weren't stopping until they had to.

By the time Hotch called it a night they had a list of twenty-three names of individuals Thomas Mark Corison had had even the most minimal of contacts with over the last twelve months.

Tomorrow, they'd meet with each person and go through them one by one. Until they found who they were looking for. After they held a press conference.

It was nearly eleven when they pushed through the hotel door. Only Garcia remained awake. "Hey, boys."

"How is she?" Reid demanded, almost immediately.

"Jumping bean down and out!" Garcia reported. "Gave her the pain pill two hours ago—minimum of an argument. Antibiotics three hours before that. She's slept almost completely undisturbed since then. Doing good. Did you find anything?"

"Twenty-three names we need you to run in the morning." Hotch handed her a list, before yawning. He was ready for a shower and falling into bed. Beside Emily.

That's exactly what he did. By midnight he was curled around her as gently as he could. She smelled clean, healthy, and alive, and he relished that as he drifted off.

Emily awoke around two, hot arms around her, and a craving for chocolate the only thought on her mind. Hotch was sound asleep beside her, head thrown back.

She debated between curling up around her supervisor or heading to the vending machines in the lobby for Reese's peanut butter cups. She'd missed dinner, so that made up her mind for her. She'd not be gone long.

Spencer found her asleep in the lobby over an hour later. He sat and watched her for a while, thinking over the day's events and all the changes that had taken place within the team. Garcia soon joined him, in search of her own chocolate—and her friends. They spoke a while about things—Emily and Hotch in particular, and were debating how to get Emily back to the hotel room when Derek arrived. He solved the problem by scooping his friend up and carrying her. He dropped her back into bed beside Hotch, and the rest of the BAU finally slept—secure in the knowledge that, at least for the night—they were all in one piece.

Hotch felt the pressure to solve the case intensifying as JJ—dressed in a soft gray suit with pink blouse—approached the podium confidently. One hand rested on the noticeable bump of her stomach, emphasizing her vulnerable appearance. It was what Hotch was counting on.

He felt like he'd thrown her to the sharks, although logically he knew she was a more than adept swimmer in this particular sea. And the brunette beside her wasn't a little fish herself. Emily looked controlled, collected, professional, and self-assured. Her black suit and red silk camisole were striking and modest in cut—Hotch couldn't help but notice how beautiful she actually was.

He'd always thought she was an attractive woman, even when he'd distrusted her completely. He remembered the way she'd told him how she hated politics, how she'd paused just short of disrespectful, before uttering, a sir. She'd stood to leave, and he'd just known she'd be a problem for him. She'd proven him wrong in that area, and he'd found it easier and easier to see just what it was that made her unique. He'd just not let himself act on those observations. Until now.

She'd curled her hair, and applied a little more makeup to highlight the depths of her eyes and emphasize the contour of her mouth. She'd look good on camera, her and JJ both.

The stark white bandage covering the right of her forehead and the one wrapped around her right hand contrasted nicely with the black of her suit. Drew the eyes. Caught the attention.

The team had decided it would be good PR for Emily to be the face people associated with the capture of the town's mass murderer. Her obvious injuries would reassure the people that the FBI was taking the case very personally. JJ's presence, soft and vulnerable, ensured the public that the FBI were people, too, instead of cold and powerful authoritarians.

Like the image Hotch somehow inevitably projected when on screen.

Hotch wanted a sympathetic icon when the BAU—through Emily and JJ—told the people watching that Thomas Corison wasn't the only killer out there. Told them they were still looking for two more unidentified murderers. Told them their lives were still in danger.

On stage, JJ skillfully explained the team's position, explained that they were following several possibilities. She then turned in Emily's direction. "SSA Prentiss will tell you a bit more about the men we're looking for. Agent Prentiss and I will answer any questions after the briefing. Ladies and gentlemen, SSA Prentiss."

Emily gave a smile and nod to the blonde woman as they exchanged places. She kept her composure, knowing it was vital she not show any nerves.

Emily hated being in the limelight, but her voice was steady as she spoke. "The first man we are looking for is a white man in his forties. He is a charming man, and one whom people trust immediately. He is physically fit, taking great care in his appearance. He most likely is a transplant to this area, but not recently. Has a relatively prestigious job. He has many acquaintances, but does not form lasting social bonds. The second man we are looking for is the direct opposite. We believe he is in his late twenties to early thirties, is most likely slight of build. He lives in his partner's shadow. He is most likely under-employed. His co-workers will describe him as being a complainer and spiteful. His only close bond will be with his partner. We believe strongly that someone has seen and had contact with these individuals. We have set up a tip line and we encourage anyone who believes they may know these two men to call."

Then the questioning began.

A woman shouted out first, fast and loud. "That's all you've got? Two white guys with tempers and bad attitudes? Sounds like my ex-husband, both of them!"

Slight laughter ensued, and Emily smiled politely. "These men take the slightest wrong to the extreme, and they will be noticeable."

"Agent Prentiss—can you tell us how Thomas Corison was involved?" A handsome man asked from near the front of the reporters asked. He looked vaguely familiar to Emily, but she couldn't place him.

"We believe Thomas Corison was acquainted with both these individuals. We are currently looking into the possibility."

"Agent Prentiss, you were injured in pursuit of Corison." The same man demanded, talking over his colleagues. "Would you care to comment on that?"

"Thomas Corison fled from my colleagues and I because the bodies of twelve victims were being concealed on his property." Emily said—she'd expected some of these type of questions.

"Rumor has it he had a knife to your throat and nearly killed you. Do you care to comment on how he died?" The man was persistent, dogged in a manner that immediately flagged Emily's interest.

"I'm afraid I'm not free to comment on the manner in which Corison died. The matter is still under investigation at this time." Emily said, firmly. Something about the man really niggled her brain. Where had she seen him before? "Please, let's not forget that the purpose of this conference is to apprehend the men responsible for fifteen deaths—and not focus on the events of yesterday."

"How are you determining which of Corison's associates to focus on?" The reporter continued to dominate his colleagues. Emily couldn't put her finger on exactly what it was about him, and her eyes met Hotch's clear across the room, only for an instant.

Hotch moved closer to the front, sensing something about the way she looked at him.

"We can't go into that at this time." Emily said, she motioned JJ off the stage as Hotch approached from the left. Emily noticed Morgan moving unobtrusively to the right. "That is information that is only pertinent to the investigation. Anyone else?"

"What about your altercation with Chief Scott Palmers? Can you tell us anything about that?" The same man shouted out over the crowd. He seemed oblivious to the other reporters surrounding him, focused solely on Emily.

He didn't even look at JJ as she moved off the stage and behind Morgan. He didn't even look at Hotch as he moved onto the stage.

He never looked away from Emily.

He's a white guy, late thirties, early forties. Used to being in charge. Emily began categorizing the reporter. Superficially charming. Reasonably fit, oblivious and uncaring about others around him. Manner shows aggression and some signs of disorganization. Demanding attention from the one whom he perceives is in charge. Me. Relatively prestigious job for this small of a town. Dominant.

He fit the profile of the first man she had described. Almost to the letter. His eyes never left her, and she frantically tried to recall where she'd seen him before. She couldn't let him see her calm breaking, so she made a determined effort to keep both hands visible on the podium. To not drop her un-bandaged hand to the holster she'd moved to the left side when dressing that morning.

What were the odds, though, that he'd come to them, rather then the other way around?

Not high. Not this profile.

Of course, profiles could be revised.

Hotch was at her elbow, and she leaned back, covering the microphone with one hand. "I've got this. But keep your eyes peeled. Is JJ out of here?"

"Reid took her back to the precinct." Hotch gave her a nod and stepped back. They didn't want to give the impression she was hiding something, so they kept the exchange incredibly quick, and she smiled at him softly. He pulled back, leaving her center stage, in the limelight, downplaying his own status. Making her the main center of all attention. Making her the face of the team. Making her the central target.

"I'm sorry—does anyone else have a question?" Emily deliberately looked over the man's head at the reporters toward the back of the room. "Someone else?"

"Is it true Chief Palmers was arrested after assaulting a female member of your team?" A woman yelled from the back of the room. "Can you tell us which agent it was? And whether the attack was provoked."

"That line of questioning is not pertinent to our search for these men." Emily began, "Chief Palmers was arrested on some minor charges two days ago, and those charges are a matter of public record. However, I am sure you'll all agree that my time, and that of my colleagues, is better spent on finding these two individuals than discussing Chief Palmers' actions. Don't you all agree? Does anyone have any questions regarding our profiles?"

"Just one more question—wasn't it true Palmers was arrested after physically assaulting you and making sexual threats?" The same strange man demanded. Hotch took half a step closer to Emily. Morgan circled around the front of the crowd, placing his body between Emily's and the man's. In his black tee and dark fatigues he could easily have been mistaken for just another one of the security guards milling throughout the courthouse. Hotch had counted on that anonymity.

He'd had a suspicion at least one of the UNSUBS would be nearby.

"If there will be no more questions regarding these two men responsible for the deaths of fifteen people, I will say thank you for your time. And remind those watching that the FBI has set up a tip line, which will be flashing across the bottom of your screen. Please, remember that the FBI can't do this without your help. Thank you and have a good day."

Emily moved to step off the stage, Hotch a half step behind her. His hand was on his weapon and his eyes on the crowd. Every primal instinct within him was telling him something wasn't right. And Emily was the target.

Because he'd made her one. Deliberately.

A voice rang out, one recognized as the persistent reporter's, "One more question, Emily! Do you believe in the day of Judgment?"

Hotch moved, quickly jerking closer to her, one thought in his mind, The son of a bitch had called her Emily!

As the words were shouted above the crowd the window above Emily's head shattered, the sound of rounds being fired echoed throughout the old building's cavernous lobby, where they'd set up the conference. People began screaming and running for the exits.

Hotch pulled his weapon clear from his holster with his right hand, and with his left he shoved Emily behind a huge marble column. Her shoulder glanced off the stone and she'd have a bruise to show for it later, but that didn't even occur to her as her mind processed what was happening and her eyes searched the panicking crowd for the shooter—or the reporter whom she just knew was one of the UNSUBS.

Her weapon was drawn and ready, held steady in her uninjured hand. She peered around the left of the column, Hotch peered around the right, equally as steady. They were trained for this very thing.

And they were both really good at what they'd been trained to do.

***

Next part of The Lion and The Antelope.

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