Previous part of The Lion and The Antelope.

***

APOCALYPSE TEN

Kenneth Deffeyes said

"The least-bad scenario is a hard landing, global recession worse than the 1930s. The worst-case borrows from the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: war, famine, pestilence and death."

Hotch's eyes scanned the crowd methodically, searching for the shooter as the court officers and Det. Allen's men secured the lobby. By Hotch's estimate only two minutes had passed. Emily stood beside him, her own eyes trained on the other half of the crowd.

Neither knew where Morgan was. When the shooting had started, he'd been three feet behind Emily. Now, he was nowhere to be seen.

"Hotch!" Emily said insistently. "South wall, what is that?"

Hotch's eyes immediately landed on what she referred to. Dozens of large sage green splashes of something peppered the white marble. It hadn't been there before the press conference. Hotch would bet money on it being green enamel.

The enamel was the one piece of the puzzle they still hadn't figured out.

"Stay here." He ordered, "I'll check it out, I think I know what it is. Keep your eyes open!"

"Gotcha." Emily scanned the crowd, watching each face carefully but quickly as Hotch wove his way to the back wall. She caught his movement as he lifted one hand and touched the green.

He returned to her position quickly, as Allen's men gave the signal that the floor was clear. The detective met them, concern on his face. "You both ok?"

"Fine." Hotch said, "Did they catch the guy?"

"We have the reporter. Damien Roberts, moved here five years ago from Seattle. SSA Morgan's got him in a squad car. Says he'll meet you and Agent Prentiss down at the station."

"What about the shooter?" Emily asked.

"No sign of him." Allen admitted, they'd scoured the building, but found no sign of whomever had fired the weapon. "Not even sure what caliber he used."

"Paintball gun." Emily said, decisively, bending down and picking up a small ball filled with metallic sage green paint, it obviously hadn't burst like it was designed to. Morgan had talked her into a paintball battle once; her, him, and two of his friends from the ATF. The little rounds hurt, but she'd left with two invitations from both Derek's friends for dinner later that week.

She'd never gotten to go out with either of them—she'd always had to cancel for cases. That was six months ago. She somehow doubted they even remembered her.

"Detective Allen!" An officer called from the front of the room, by the podium. "We got somethin' you need to see!"

Emily holstered her weapon as she followed the two men to the podium. Adrenalin still ran through her blood, and as it abated she began to shiver. Hotch moved closer, and she felt the warmth radiating from him. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, realizing he'd done it without thinking.

Was he that attuned to her? So aware of her and her body that he'd act so unthinkingly?

It frightened her.

The officer who'd called them over was holding a cylindrical tube, much like what drive-through tellers at the bank used to send envelopes through the pneumatic pipes. Inside was a piece of paper.

It had been sat on the podium, centered and precise. Someone wanted it to be found quickly.

Hotch motioned Allen to open it, and they waited.

"It's addressed to SSA Prentiss, sir." Allen said. Aaron Hotchner was one of those men that would always automatically be addressed as sir.

"What?" Emily asked, she moved closer, edging in between Allen and the officer. Hotch moved to read the letter over her shoulder. He placed one hand on her shoulder and leaned her back slightly, against his chest, clearing his line of sight.

My dearest Agent Emily Prentiss and team;

I want to offer my sincerest apologies for your ordeal. Corison was sloppy and inefficient. My one regret is that I could not be the one to take his life and send him to the Judgment.

Remember, my dear, that only by cleansing those of this world who are an abhorrence to my desire, can I achieve the peace I so long for. If you are pained by external things, it is not they that disturb you, but your own judgment of them. And it is in your power to wipe out that judgment now. Is your judgment correct, my dear?

I'll be waiting…

The Judge

Emily finished reading aloud, and turned to look at the man standing behind her. Had the reporter put this up there? She'd not noticed him holding something as large as the tube, so where had he hidden it? And why would he be obvious, if he wasn't wanting to get caught?

Nothing about the note made sense.

"Let's get back to the precinct. I'll want to interview Roberts after we go over things one more time. Have Garcia run the tape of the conference. We're missing something!" Hotch almost growled. He knew very well what could have happened here today. And he was aware that it would have been on his hands. He'd made her the target. Deliberately. And they'd not caught the shooter. "This isn't the same MO, nothing about this is making sense—we're missing something!"

"White enamel, red enamel, black enamel, green enamel? White, red, black, green." Emily muttered to herself, "White, red, black, green. Poison, stabbing, starvation, and infestation. Four colors, four CODs. Corison, Roberts, the third guy, and now someone else who wrote the letter. Four UNSUBs."

"What are you getting that?" Hotch asked, slowly, as he, Allen, and the officer looked at her, puzzled. He'd seen that look in her eyes often enough to know when she was on to something.

"The apocalypse!" Emily suddenly said, grabbing Hotch by the arm and pulling him slightly to her in her excitement. "It's following the tale of the Four horsemen of the Apocalypse! And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth. I need to check something, Hotch. We need to get back to the precinct!"

Emily and Hotch practically ran into the station house, passing both Morgan and Reid in the hallway. Emily immediately headed to the little room that had become the command center of the BAU. JJ looked up from where she was rescanning the various files. Garcia sat beside her, absently scanning the list of twenty-three names Hotch had given her the night before.

Emily grabbed the list, and the two lists pinned to the bulletin board that listed the clients and employees for both the investment and law firms. "Garcia! Have you connected Thomas Corison to anyone on both of these lists? What about Damien Roberts?"

"Not yet. Why, jumping bean, what did you find out?" Garcia said, startled at the intensity on the other woman's face.

"There wasn't just three UNSUBS. Four. They're modeling themselves after the four horsemen from Revelations." Emily began. "The white horse, is commonly thought of as the rise to power, both investment planners and lawyers have power. Historically, to take power from someone, you had to kill them quickly—poison was commonly used. White enamel mugs. The red, is war. He carries a blood red sword. Red enamel on stab wounds. The third is black. And is known as death, commonly seen as famine and starvation. Black manacles, starved bodies. Some also say it represents plagues—bees! Sage green, is the fourth color. It's a misconception based on an incorrect translation of the Hebrew word for ill. Was mistranslated as paisley, or sage green. Green paintballs shot on the wall of the courthouse. It encompasses all the others. The letter said something about the Judgment and the judge. Courthouse, place of judgment. The fourth UNSUB is controlling the actions of the others, including Corison."

"Chick, slow down, what letter?" Derek said, coming to stand beside her.

"During the mess at the courthouse, someone placed a letter on the podium." Hotch handed it first to Morgan who read it and passed it to Reid.

Emily took a deep breath before continuing. "He quoted Marcus Aurelius. Which is ironic because Aurelius never believed in the afterlife and judgment. This last UNSUB is guiding the others, but if he truly knows Aurelius's history, he doesn't believe in the final Judgments himself. Aurelius supposedly wanted and desired death as the end to all desires. If cornered, this guy will most likely try to kill himself—and whomever is around him."

Allen was puzzled. "So we still got two more out there?"

"Yes." Hotch said. "And Roberts is the only lead we have to him. We need a profile on this new UNSUB before we do the interrogation. Let's work fast, people!"

"Hotch! You guys got to see this!" Reid ran into the back room. "Someone's leaked a video of the altercation with Palmers to the media. It's all over the news—Nancy Grace, everything!"

Hotch, Morgan, and JJ ran to the center conference room, where Garcia, Allen, and Prentiss all sat watching the screen.

"It's someone's cell phone." Garcia determined.

"JJ, on the phone—find out who leaked that. Everyone else, we have other, more important things to worry about." Hotch said, as his eyes moved away from the screen. No matter how much he wanted to stay and hear exactly what was being said on screen, he knew they had other things to do.

"Yes, sir." Emily said, absently, eyes still glued to the screen, as the words of Palmers' threats to her replayed.

Hotch knew then she wasn't really aware of what he'd said. He motioned everyone else out of the room, and moved up behind her. One hand came up to rest on her shoulder. "Emily?"

"They're demanding to know if that's what it is really like." Emily said, sighing. "If law enforcement is like that for women."

"It's not important." Hotch said. "Palmers is no longer in his position."

"But there are thousands more like him." Emily said. "You know, the first time something like that happened to me, I was still in the academy, I was twenty-four. Guy in the same program. Backed me against the wall. Told me the FBI had no place for a woman like me, but he had a place for me. Will it ever end, do you think?"

"I don't know." Hotch said, rubbing her shoulder, noticing idly that she didn't seem to avoid his touch any longer. It was a good sign, for him, that she was more comfortable around him, less on edge. He hated he'd made her feel that insecure with his coldness over the last year plus. She hadn't ever deserved that from him. And he was thankful she was beginning to feel comfortable enough to share personal feelings and experiences with him. She'd not done that since the night he'd told her he needed her objective—and she'd replied she needed to know she was human. She'd backed away from him in every way but professionally ever since. Until recently, until now. "There will always be those who seek to control those they perceive as weaker, and it will often be in a sexual manner. I wish I could change it, wish it would change—but it won't until more women join the ranks."

"But with something like this showing—why would they want to?" Emily sighed, dejectedly, leaning back into him ever so slightly. She watched as, on screen, her knee flashed and Palmers doubled over slightly. Shivered when his promise that it wasn't over yet sounded through the speakers. "I probably shouldn't have aimed off-center."

"Come on. Let's go. I want a working profile of this final UNSUB before I go in to question Roberts." Hotch said, as she turned around to face him. His hand dropped from her shoulder, moved to rest around her back. He didn't like the look in her eyes. Big, dark, vulnerable—resigned. Almost defeated, in a way he wasn't used to ever seeing her. "I need you on this. Are you ok?"

"Yes. I am." Emily said, stiffening her spine slightly. She took a deep breath, and was once again SSA Emily Prentiss, ready to conquer the world. Wonder Woman—as Garcia called her. "I want in on the interrogation. I've seen Roberts before, Hotch. I just can't place him, yet."

"You sure you're up to it?" Hotch asked, not liking the idea at all. This case had been a nightmare, and it was especially difficult to see the way it was affecting her.

"It's my job. And I am more than capable of doing it." Emily said, firmly. "I need you to respect that."

"I do." Hotch said, and he did. "But whenever an agent is injured, I like to cut them some slack."

"I don't need slack, Hotch." Emily said. She'd learned early on in the academy that any sign of weakness in a woman counted against them twice what it would in a man. Slack was never really an option. "Let's find the others, and do this."

"Yes, ma'am." He said.

"Are you all sure she should be in there?" Detective Allen asked from his place between Kinsey and Morgan. They were all arranged in front of a one way mirror, watching as Prentiss and Hotch prepared to do the interrogation.

"She'll be fine. Emily and Hotch interview really well together." Spencer said, shrugging. "They almost read each other's minds."

"Isn't that what you all are trained to do?" Allen asked, skeptically.

"Well, yes, in a way, I guess you can call it that." Spencer began.

"Yes or no, Spence." Kinsey demanded softly, cutting off his ramble. Morgan grinned to himself.

"What Reid means is, we're trained to observe criminal behavior. But Hotch and Emily—they don't need to be looking at each other, and they finish each other's sentences effortlessly. Takes a person a while to catch on, but once you see it, you can't miss it." Morgan said.

"You all do that." Kinsey said. "It's a bit off-putting at first. After that, it's kind of cool."

"But she can handle it?" Allen asked again. The woman in question looked vulnerable and delicate behind the glass. The white bandages, the curled hair, the big, dark doe eyes—none of it shouted skilled interrogator to him. "You sure?"

"She wouldn't be in there if she couldn't." Morgan said, emphatically. "Hotch wouldn't allow it. And Emily is one hell of an agent."

"If you say so." Skepticism still colored the man's voice.

"Just watch. And be prepared to be amazed." Morgan insisted, lips quirking. "Interrogation magic coming up!"

Before they led Roberts in, Hotch grabbed Emily's arm and pulled her closer. "Keep the fact that we know about the symbolism behind everything back. These guys get off on thinking they know more than we do."

"Understood," She whispered as the door opened and one of Allen's officers led the man in. He smiled, quirked his lips in Emily's direction.

He completely ignored Hotch.

"Mr. Roberts, please sit down." Hotch said. Emily would only speak when Roberts cooperated; Hotch would use her attention as a reward. Make Roberts work for her attention. Make him almost beg for it. Make him screw up. Just to have those dark eyes focused on him.

Hotch understood how much a man would work for a woman like Emily Prentiss.

"Sure thing. Hello, Agent Prentiss." Roberts said, as he dropped into the chair.

Emily didn't answer.

"Mr. Roberts, you know why you're here." Hotch said. He took the seat directly in front of the man. Emily stood, leaning against the wall near the door. Out of Roberts' direct line of sight. "We have a few questions for you."

"I'll answer any question you have—if Emily does the asking." Roberts said, turning, eying her closely.

Detective Allen was still skeptical. "Why won't he let Prentiss question him, if he's willing to talk to her?"

"We can't reward him, until he gives us something to use. He's focused on Emily, so by denying him the privilege of speaking with her—we maintain control."

"So why is she in there?"

"Because seeing her, yet not talking to her, can throw him off. Make him make a mistake. We really don't have a whole lot to tie him to anything. In fact, we really don't have much to hold him on, if at all. But his prints were all over the note." Reid said, eyes trained on the UNSUB. "Hotch is keeping control, Emily is just in there as a shiny carrot."

"And this will achieve what?" Kinsey asked, from her position in front of Reid. She was a shorter woman, and the crown of her head passed under his chin with a good three inches of clearance. He tried not to notice how good she smelled.

It brought back too many good, recent, memories. He hoped he'd get to re-experience those memories before the team headed back to Washington. "It'll throw him off his guard. He might let something slip."

"Ok." Kinsey said. "Then what next?"

"Then we find the other sons-of-bitches." Morgan said, as Garcia entered the room. "Hey sweet-girl. Whatcha got for me?"

"Whatever you think you can take, my cinnamon chocolate hottie. I have two names for you." She waved a sheet of paper under his nose.

"Great, baby-girl. You got addresses?"

"Better than that…one of these guys is right here in the building. Officer Phillip Holmes. If I recall correctly, he's one of your men, Detective Allen." She said, softly. "He's Corison's cousin on his father's side—and Roberts' cousin on his mother. And Walter J. Coulier."

"Judge Coulier?" Allen said disbelievingly. "He's in on this?"

"I don't know, but he's connected to Corrison, Roberts, and Holmes, sir." Garcia said. "I don't know if it's what you're looking for, but I figured I'd let you know in person what I found."

"Dammit, Holmes is the officer who led Roberts into the room!" Allen said, suddenly. "We need to re-search Roberts, now!"

He ran from the room, followed closely by Morgan. Kinsey, JJ and Reid continued to watch the interrogation. JJ hit the light that signaled Hotch and Emily they needed to speak to them. They had to get them out of there. Neither one was armed—it was too dangerous to have a weapon in a small space with a serial killer.

Hotch nodded to Emily to open the door, but she didn't get the chance.

Roberts pulled his hands free from the cuffs. And jumped from his chair. His hand was around Emily's arm before she even realized he'd moved. He pulled her against his body, holding a small knife against her neck and backing them both toward the wall.

The door slammed open, revealing both Allen and Morgan with their weapons drawn. Kinsey and Reid stood behind them, also trained on the man in the bright orange jumpsuit.

Hotch froze, eyes trained on Roberts. "Let her go."

"I don't want to do that." Roberts said, in a completely calm tone. "I like her. I think she likes me, too."

"Why are you doing this?" Hotch asked, his own tone mirroring Roberts'. "You have to know this won't work out good for you."

"The judge has promised me my reward."

"Judge Coulier?" Morgan asked, repeating the name Garcia had given them.

"Yes. So you do know him." Roberts said. "A wise man. You should read his writings."

"What reward has he promised you?" Hotch demanded.

"A life of peace and happiness. Wealth. Promised land, paradise." Roberts' voice rang with a fanaticism that the BAU recognized. They'd heard it before—the Frances Goerhing case, other cult-type cases. Those who'd used religion or their versions of one to hurt or torture others. Roberts, an obviously educated, confident man, had bought this judge's rhetoric hook, line, and sinker. "Emily."

"Excuse me?" Hotch said.

"Coulier promised that if I completed my mission, I can have Emily."

"What mission? Why her?" Hotch demanded, keeping his hands visible.

He didn't dare look at Emily. Couldn't bear to see her with a knife at her throat.

"Deliver the message." Roberts said. "Then take her to him."

"Why does he want her?" Hotch asked, moving around the table.

Emily hadn't made a sound, was remaining completely quiet, completely calm. Not drawing Roberts' attention to her. Letting Hotch do what he had to do to get her away from him.

Hotch looked at her, then. Saw the calm trust in her eyes.

It nearly staggered him. He knew exactly how precarious the situation actually was. She knew it, too.

God, he couldn't let her down. Not now.

APOCALYPSE ELEVEN

Adam Michnik said:

Start doing the things you think should be done, and start being what you think society should become. Do you believe in free speech? Then speak freely. Do you love the truth? Then tell it. Do you believe in an open society? Then act in the open. Do you believe in a decent and humane society? Then behave decently and humanely.

Emily tried to remain as unobtrusive as possible. She knew that if Roberts felt the least little bit of panic, or if she refused to cooperate, or if Hotch miscalculated, he might act first and think second.

She didn't want to be in his range if that happened. Her eyes dropped to the arm around her chest, focusing on the red birthmark on his skin. She'd seen it before.

Seen it as it had reached in front of her and opened the door to the diner. He'd called her ma'am, and smiled at her. Looked interested in her. Then Hotch had spotted her, and she'd focused only on him.

She'd been that close to the UNSUB and hadn't had a clue.

Hotch was pale, his eyes fathomless. Dark. Always so dark she didn't know what he was thinking.

She remembered the first time those eyes had looked at her and she'd wanted to scream at him. When he'd questioned her about her 'political' agenda. She'd been so angry, so ready to just yell at the cold, sanctimonious bastard across the desk from her. It had taken all her will power not to tell him exactly what she thought of him that day.

She remembered how intently those eyes had stared into hers when he'd shown up at her townhouse months later. Telling her he wanted her on the plane to Milwaukee with him.

How she'd wanted to yell at him to get out of her house, her sanctuary. That she was done with the BAU and him.

Even though she knew differently.

How those thoughts had changed in the last few weeks. Just boom! He'd gone from cold, aloof boss, to something more. Something she wasn't quite sure she could describe.

Something she wasn't ready to describe. But she wanted the chance to describe it when she was.

She caught her breath as the knife grazed her skin, slicing just a little. The knife was unbelievably sharp, and she'd always had an aversion to knives. She arched back slightly, feeling his body pressed against hers. Felt the arousal tightening his body. Fear and adrenaline, most likely. Anticipation.

Heard Hotch's breath catch. Felt the tension increase within the little room. She was aware of Morgan and Allen moving inside the room, Kinsey and Reid blocking the door. Aware of Hotch as he moved ever so closer. Aware of her heart beating erratically, of Roberts body scorching against hers.

Felt her own heart freeze, as she looked into Hotch's eyes. She trusted him, she hoped he knew that.

"What's the message, Damien?" Hotch asked, hoping to focus the man on him. "What did the judge tell you to do?"

"Tell you…There is never enough time to do everything, but there is always enough time to do the most important thing. Decide what is the important thing." The man intoned. "What is the important thing, Agent Hotchner?"

"I don't know. Why don't you tell me?" Hotch asked, moving around the table slightly. "What does the judge say is the most important thing?"

"Cleansing this world of the evil within it, of course."

"What does he want with Emily? There's no evil in Emily." Hotch was three feet from them now. Close enough to touch her. He didn't look at her."What did she do to him?"

"She's done nothing to him. He has something for her." Roberts said. "A present. An amends. He's waiting to give it to her. If I bring her to him, I get to keep her after he gives her the gift."

"And how are you supposed to get her there?" Hotch asked.

Roberts tightened his arm around her neck, and she began to fear he'd asphyxiate her long before he ever slit her throat. God, she couldn't breathe! She drew in a gasp, drawing Hotch's eye.

"I'm to take her there. You're to let me. If you don't let me, I'm to kill her, right now." Roberts said, pulling her even tighter against him, the knife sinking a little deeper.

Emily gasped a little louder, her un-bandaged hand tightening on his arm, trying to pull it away from the vulnerable skin of her neck.

"You can't take her to him if you kill her." Hotch said, reasonably. "Pull that knife away from her neck, let her breathe—she can't breathe, she needs to breathe, so we can talk. I'm not too clear on your mission or the judge's message. Don't you want to make sure I know exactly what he meant?"

Roberts thought a moment, before moving the knife an inch away from Emily's neck. Move his arm so she could breathe.

Hotch breathed a sigh of semi-relief. Blood was trickling down her throat, staining her cotton shirt. But that he'd listened to Hotch's instructions was a good sign. Showed that he could be reasoned with.

"What's not clear about it?" Roberts said. "I've done what I was told to do. Is it my fault you can't understand what he meant? I need to go now."

"You can go, Damien. But I can't let you take Emily away. She stays here." Hotch said firmly. "With me."

"No. The judge was very specific. I do not leave here without Emily." He shook his head, loosening his grip on the knife somewhat, pulling it even further from her neck. "She's supposed to see."

Emily didn't think. Her training immediately took hold as he shifted into a better position, and her uninjured hand rose quickly, moving between her neck and the arm holding the blade.

She dropped all her weight, sliding down to the floor as quickly as she could. Freeing up a line of sight for those with their weapons trained on the man. Until Hotch moved into their line.

Hotch saw her move and as soon as she was clear of the knife he lashed out. One hand grabbed the man's knife hand, strong fingers wrapping around Roberts' wrist. He slammed the man's hand into the concrete wall repeatedly until he heard the sound of bone cracking, and the knife hitting the floor.

He pulled Roberts up, jerked him around and slammed him face down on the table. Morgan moved in to cuff him, while Reid ran to Emily, helping her to stand.

"I'm alright." She said, gingerly holding her hand to the small trickle of blood dripping down onto her shirt. "I'm fine. It's not very deep."

Hotch moved to her, reaching up to pull her hand away. To see for himself. "This is getting to be a habit."

"Sorry about that, sir." Her lips twitched, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her closer and hold her tight. "I've always wanted a life of adventure."

"You're giving me gray hair." He said drolly.

"Ah, but some people think gray hair is distinguished." Emily said, severely, as Roberts was led out of the room in cuffs. "This has been one hell of a case."

"And it's not over yet." Hotch said. "We need to find Holmes, and this judge. Find out what he meant by an amends."

"We need to do a profile, using all the information we have." Emily said, following him out of the interrogation room and into the bullpen. JJ and Garcia waited anxiously, and both hugged her as soon as they saw her.

Everyone waited while Detective Kinsey applied antiseptic to the shallow cut on Emily's neck, covering it with a butterfly bandage. It wouldn't need a stitch, so she was lucky. This time.

Hotch could still feel the fear and adrenaline flooding his body, as he sat, watching her as she perched on the corner of Detective Kinsey's desk. He could see the faint shivers running her body, and he knew she was crashing down, too.

This case had more than made it abundantly clear how vital she actually was to the team—but more importantly, how much she mattered to him.

When this case was over, they'd be having a serious talk. Get everything between them out in the open. And go from there.

"What do we know?" Hotch demanded of the six people arranged around the large conference table.

"UNSUB one, Thomas Corison, felt betrayed by both Libstein and Maxwell, Maxwell, and Teague. Lost a total of two hundred thousand dollars in his suit and in bad investments. Only thing he had remaining was the building on the corner of Jackson and Nineteenth." Morgan began. "He was responsible for the nine deaths by poisoning. He also carried a white enameled knife."

"Damien Roberts, UNSUB number two," Emily began, "Reporter for the Nortan Chronicle, has lived in the area for five years. Garcia found that he'd been let go from his last position because of workplace rage and for forming a stalking obsession about a co-worker. Has borderline personality disorder as well as bi-polar indicators. He is disorganized, and a rage killer. He was responsible for three stabbing deaths, and carried a red-handled knife." The knife Hotch had knocked out of the man's hand had matched the stab wounds perfectly. "He's a cousin of Officer Phillip Holmes."

"Holmes is the weakest of the UNSUBS. He's a recent addition to the police force." Reid began. "He's quiet, but full of rage. He's enamored of the older UNSUBS, seeing the Judge as the ultimate voice in all things. He probably followed Roberts into this, and he most likely is the one responsible for the twelve victims found manacled in Corison's building. He found these people, and just left them. His crime has a higher level of pure sadism than the others. I'd say that though he isn't the most noticeable of the UNSUBS, he's probably the most dangerous. He is pleasured by the suffering of so many people. I believe his motivations are not some idea of an Apocalyptic rapture. The judge and his beliefs are just a convenient outlet."

"The judge is the least clear. We know nothing about him." Hotch began, resting his elbows on the table as he spoke. "Just what we can get from public records. Garcia's searching for whatever she can find. We know he was married, but divorced six months ago. No children, most likely because he's impotent. He has a deep-rooted need to be in control. Hence, the profession, and now the organizing of this small gang of killers. Where did he find these men? My guess would be in an official capacity. Corison was arrested and seen by Coulier two months ago. Roberts reported on the case, and Holmes was the arresting officer. Something during that trial triggered all of this. The possibility exists that though they are trying to mirror the legend of the four Horsemen, that Coulier is—like Holmes—using it as an excuse for his actions. He may not have actually killed anyone—but has been a full party to most—if not all—of the other UNSUBS murders."

"Why these people?" Kinsey asked, looking at the pictures of the twenty-four bodies, ranging in age from around eleven to sixty-three.

"Holmes often did prison transfers for us." Allen said. "It was grunt work for bad attitude and insubordination. A way to get him out of my hair."

"It's possible he was picking people up, offering them a 'safe' ride to the southern part of the state. No one would think twice about accepting a ride from a police officer." Reid said. "He took them to Corison's building and just left them to die."

"But I still don't understand their motivation behind all this." Kinsey admitted from her seat beside the doctor. "Why kill two dozen people?"

"A mix of a mission type killing spree and flat out sociopathy. A group of four UNSUBS killing on this level, in this manner is more than exceedingly rare. It's almost unheard of." Reid said. "The best explanation is, that they get pleasure from the murders, no matter what the individual motivations are. They feed off of each other's desires. Symbiotic."

"We need an address on this judge." Hotch said, "Garcia."

"Way ahead of you, oh handsome leader," the blonde said. "2234 W. Palm Chester Way, Nortan Springs, California."

No one answered the door, and Hotch gave the nod. The door was kicked open and they rushed the door.

Morgan heard Hotch's orders through the mike and he kicked the back door open as well. He, Reid, and Emily rushed in, Emily last.

They met up with Hotch's team in a formal parlor. "Anything?"

"No, man. No sign of anyone having been here within the last few hours." Morgan answered.

"Coulier owns the six acres behind the property." Garcia's voice piped through everyone's earpieces. "Aerial maps show a wooden structure in the lower western quadrant."

"Thanks, Garcia."

"No problem, Superman. Ms. Invisible over and out!"

"Let's move." Hotch ordered, "Reid, Kinsey, I want you two to head along the back perimeter. Morgan, Prentiss, you'll come down the center. Allen and I'll head opposite Reid and Kinsey. Go in quietly. And be alert. We don't know what he's got rigged up."

Hotch gave the signal for Morgan to open the barn door. Morgan always went first, Morgan and Hotch. Protecting the ones who came after. It was just the way it was. Just like when she was out with Reid or JJ—she went first.

It was always hard watching them enter, not knowing what they'd find. Always. But she dealt, the whole team did.

The barn was dark, but a strange light emanated from a back stall. Hotch and Morgan were the first to peer inside.

"Clear!" Morgan yelled, as Hotch rushed deeper into the stall, before rushing behind Hotch.

"Get a medic!" Hotch called back to Detective Allen.

Emily rushed into the stall. She recognized the man bound and bloody, with a green-handled knife sticking from between his ribs. Former Chief of Police Scott Palmers had been beaten and stabbed, hands bound behind his back.

Emily barely recognized him. She backed out of the stall, not wanting to crowd Hotch, Morgan, Reid, or Allen as they made sure the man stayed alive long enough to get to the hospital.

She moved to wait by the door, next to Detective Kinsey. The two women stood, not talking for a moment, weapons down.

"Palmers?" Kinsey asked, rhetorically. "Why him?"

"I don't know." Emily admitted. "We'll have to wait until he wakes."

"If he wakes." Kinsey said. "I've never seen anything like this. How do you do it? Deal with this kind of crazy shit all the time?"

"Compartmentalize. Block off what we can't deal with, so that we can deal with what we have to. Stopping these guys is everything. Its never easy."

"So how are we going to find this guy?" Kinsey said. "How will we know where to look?"

"Just look behind you!" A male voice said from the shadows behind the younger woman, as a wooden board slammed into her head.

Detective Kinsey went down hard, landing at Emily's feet, as a man stepped from the shadows. He held Palmers service weapon pointed straight at Emily's head.

Emily hadn't seen him. None of the agents had.

The men rushed from the stall and Palmers, stopping short when they caught the tableau in front of them. Reid shouted for the fallen detective. They all recognized the man from the pictures Garcia had provided earlier.

And he had a weapon pointed right at Emily.

"Judge Coulier." Hotch said, aiming his own weapon at the other man. "Put the weapon down."

"I wanted to ensure you got my gift, SSA Prentiss." The man ignored Hotch, focusing instead on the woman in front of him. He didn't even acknowledge Kinsey's presence at his feet. No one existed for him but Emily. "Did you like it?"

"Your gift?" Emily asked, eyes trained on him. "I don't understand."

"That fool Roberts was supposed to tell you I had a gift for you." Anger tightened his jaw and Emily backed up a step. She could see Morgan and Reid on her left side, and Hotch and Allen on the right. All had weapons pointed at the judge.

"I understand that," Emily said, in a soothing tone. "What I don't understand was the significance behind your message. Roberts forgot what he was supposed to tell me."

"Fool." He practically spat the word, hand tightening around the grip. "All that he was supposed to do was tell you and your team that we are on the same side."

"Sides?" Emily asked. She forced her eyes to remain on Coulier, even though she sensed Kinsey stirring on the ground between them. "What sides?"

"Getting bastards like the trash at Libstein and Associates, or those worthless shits begging for rides up the coast. Trash. Clutter. I see them everyday, you know. Coming in my courtroom with the my mommy caused me to do it, or I was drunk so I shouldn't have to pay excuses. What they don't realize is that I am a judge. The Judge. I measure their actions and decide whether they are guilty or not. And then what do I see—the same people coming through my court again. And again."

"So you found Roberts, Corison, and Holmes. To help you rid the streets of these people?" Emily asked, understanding that they had been wrong. Coulier did believe his rhetoric. He was a classic mission killer. He'd just brainwashed others into doing the killing for him. "Why did they agree to help you? How did you all start this?"

"They understood when I got angry in court. Understood that these bastards should pay for what they've done. Face the ultimate judgment. They liked it, wanted to see that others got the judgments they deserved, too." Coulier stepped closer, stopping just short of the young woman on the ground in front of him. "Corison, he wanted those filthy scum who'd stolen his money to pay. He'd worked hard for that money, and what did they leave him with—absolutely nothing. And when he sued—still more nothing. And Roberts, he didn't care. He just wanted someone to show him the way. Those women—they were whores. But they turned him down, turned down a good man like him. So he killed them—I told him he should have brought them to me for their judgment but he didn't. Stupid. "

"Why did you pick Palmers?" Emily demanded.

He paused before answering, the gun still pointed at Emily. Her hands remained out where he could see them, though her weapon was clutched in her left. He dropped his gaze to Kinsey, who was moving slightly. He pulled back a foot and kicked the woman square in the ribs, and she fell back down, gasping for breath.

Emily's own breath caught as she heard the young woman gasping. The rattle she made was distinctive—he'd punctured her lung. They had to get her help and fast.

"Palmers defied all that was holy. The system that is in place is designed to rid the world of that kind of scum. Yet that scum was in a position of authority. Holmes showed me the tape of what he did to you. How he'd tried to hurt you and your little blonde friend. I saw how you protected your friend, with no thought about yourself—and I knew you, at least, would understand."

"I do understand. But that girl at your feet, she understands, too. And she needs help. Why don't you lower the gun and let me help her?" Emily's voice was slightly pleading. She knew this was going down only one way. She was just waiting for the right moment. For the signal. "She's a good girl, a good cop. Did you know she's moving to Washington next month—to help her elderly aunt? She's going to take care of her. Sacrifice her career to help someone in need. Her aunt needs her—and Kinsey needs help. Can you put the gun down so I can help her?"

"I'm not putting the gun down, Emily." He said, "I have to render the final judgment. We deserve our reward, you and me. I've already given Phillip his."

"Where is Phillip?" Emily asked.

"Out back. I gave him his judgment. I have severed the wicked from the just. I took Palmers far away from you. And Phillip—he had so much potential but his views of the judgment—they were skewed. Perverted. It didn't matter who was the right and just and who wasn't. He just wanted to kill. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize that. But you and I, Emily, we'll be going to our reward. They will be in the fire. But we, we will be in the heavens."

Emily watched in slow motion as his finger began to tighten on the trigger. Heard Hotch's call for her to get down! But she was already moving.

She fell to the side, as close to Detective Kinsey as she could get. Covered the younger woman with her body, as the bullets rained around them. Kept the younger woman from possibly moving into the line of fire.

Not that it mattered—Kinsey was unconscious.

The body of Judge Walter Coulier landed on Emily's left leg and Kinsey's right. His blood stained their pants, and the hay that lay beneath them.

Nanoseconds passed before strong hands wrapped around Emily and pulled her from Kinsey. Soon she was being held close to a familiar chest, covered in thick Kevlar. Aaron's hand was tangled in her hair, holding her as tightly as he could, as the medics rushed around—first to Kinsey and then Palmers. Spencer stayed close to the young woman, as she was loaded onto a gurney, his bony fingers wrapped around her much smaller hand. She was hurriedly wheeled out of the barn and to the waiting ambulance, seconds in front of Scott Palmers.

In the midst of the confusion, Emily closed her eyes and lay her head on Hotch's shoulders. Corison was dead, Roberts was in jail. Holmes' body was most likely somewhere on the property, and the ME was leaning over Judge Coulier, pronouncing the man dead.

Twenty-four dead victims. Four dead UNSUBS. Emily injured, Spencer injured, Max Kinsey injured—Scott Palmers injured.

But it was finally over. And time for the BAU to move on.

APOCALYPSE OVER

Emily couldn't find her other bottle of shampoo. She always carried two, one half full and one completely full, in her ready bag, but she couldn't find the one she'd used the day before. It wasn't in the small bathroom, nor was it under any of the furniture.

It was like it had disappeared. She was packing for the return trip to Washington in the morning and she'd need her shampoo. The plane left early so everyone was getting ready before heading to sleep.

But Emily's damned shampoo was missing.

JJ's impatient knock sounded, reminding Emily that she needed to get in gear. Morning came early and she wasn't the only one who needed the bathroom.

The only answer she could come with was that it had gotten mixed in with JJ or Garcia's things by mistake. She'd have to ask later, but in the meantime—it was just a bottle of shampoo.

It wasn't like anybody would have stolen it.

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Nobody made any pretense that Emily would be sleeping anywhere but beside Hotch. Not tonight. Spencer had yet to return to the room, still being at the hospital with Detective Kinsey. She'd suffered a pretty serious concussion and a collapsed lung. Spencer had actually requested a few personal days off to stay with her. Help her until she got back on her feet. Hotch had told him he had plenty of time, and to stay. He'd work it out with paperwork when he got back to Washington.

Palmers was in the same hospital. He'd eventually be ok physically. Detective Allen had been named as sheriff-pro-temp until the city elections later in the year.

Good changes were occurring rapidly in Nortan Springs.

Emily sat on the pullout while everyone else took turns showering. Nobody talked about the case. Or what all had happened to Emily. Never had she had a case that revolved around her the way this one had, and she just wasn't ready to discuss it.

She just wanted to relax and watch a movie on Garcia's laptop. The woman had great graphics. She found one on Netflix and added it to her instant account, pulling the computer to rest on her knees. Her headphones drowned out the sounds of everyone else moving about.

She needed whatever privacy she could get—and the team all seemed to understand that. She was engrossed in the movie when she felt the bed dip.

Hotch was finished with his shower. He was clean, slightly woodsy-scented, dressed in navy sweats and an FBI tee. His hair was actually mussed, water beads gleaming in the light.

He didn't try to say anything, just wrapped his arm around his pillow and stretched his long legs out over the covers. He had a very athletic body that the sweats showed to perfection. He lay there silently beside her while she finished her movie.

JJ and Garcia were soon asleep, Morgan following shortly after. Everyone was completely exhausted. Including Emily.

She took off the headphones, replaced Garcia's computer on the desk and turned toward the pullout with a soft sigh.

"You ok?" Hotch asked, as she nervously slid under the covers.

"I will be."

"You want to talk about it?" He slipped under the blankets beside her, no pretense of keeping the sheet between them. They didn't talk about it, it just was.

"I know about obsessions. I know about fanaticism. Sociopathy, and mission killers." She sighed, as she unconsciously arranged herself closer to him. "But seeing them feeding off each other the way fleas do a dog. I don't know, Hotch."

"And to have two of the four men focused on you?" He asked softly. He trailed his fingers up her spine lazily. Unconsciously. "Made you feel vulnerable, less confident as an agent? Dependent on me and the team for the first time?"

"Needy." Emily admitted. "I hate being needy and dependent. Doubting myself. I was raised never to show my doubts. I didn't like this."

"And this case has been nothing but doubts." He stated. "Part of that—a big part of that—is my fault."

"Yes, in a way." She said, not sure she wanted to have this conversation now. "You didn't like me, Hotch. When I first came to the BAU. And quite frankly—I couldn't stand you. No matter what I tried, you were cold and cutting."

"So you stopped trying." He said, hand tightening around her waist. "I can understand that."

"Yes. But then you began to respect me as an agent. So it got better. I respected you professionally, admired you as a leader. But as a friend—I still don't know you. And it takes a lot for me to let someone in for friendship."

"And a whole lot more for something romantic. I understand." He told her.

"Yes." She admitted frankly. "I'm not sure what your motives are. What you want from me. I can't read you, never could. Not like Morgan or JJ or Spencer. It scares me when I can't read someone."

"I scare you."

"Terrify me. I'm not sure I even want to think about doing this." She waved a hand to encompass their intertwined bodies. "And my God, you've only been divorced for a few months. It's way too soon—for you especially. How can you know you want this?"

"I've given it a lot of thought. Side effect of being a profiler."

"Self-profiling never works for me, Hotch." Her head rested on his chest, speaking to her wants much more than her words did. Told him how conflicted she actually was. "I do know one thing. I've worked hard to get into the BAU. And I know that Strauss pulled strings to get me here. And I'm sorry for that."

"I'm not. You're right where you belong." He meant what he said. She was a vital part of his team, and he couldn't imagine her not there to fill that spot. "Regardless of how you got there. I needed you, someone to shake things up."

"I almost hated you, Hotch. For quite a while. I was ready to quit before the Joseph Smith case. Because of Strauss because of the great Hotch-freeze, all of it."

"I'm sorry I was such a cold bastard. Politics had made me distrustful."

"And you'd do whatever it takes to protect your team." She added.

"Like you would. Just look at how you stepped in front of JJ with Palmers. How you covered Kinsey tonight. Without thought. You just did."

"I don't want to lose my place with the BAU, Hotch. I've worked hard to get here. Sacrificed."

"You won't ever lose your place, Emily." He promised softly. "No matter what happens—or doesn't—between us. I promise you that."

"Frankly, I don't even know anything about you. Not really. We don't know if we share the same interests, the same movies. Politics."

"So we need to get to know each other?" He asked.

"Funny as it sounds, yes." She said. "And I need some time to think. Think all this through."

"I can understand that. And I can give you time." He agreed, pulling her to lie flush against his side. "But be prepared, I'm determined. I'll do whatever I have to to influence your decision."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me." Emily said, raising her knee to rest over his thigh.

"I'll give you fourteen days, Emily. To make up your mind. Then we'll go from there."

"Fourteen days." She agreed as she drifted into a peaceful sleep, curled up there on his chest, as if sleeping beside her boss was the most natural thing in the world.

He waited until he knew she was completely out before dropping a kiss on her forehead. He gently pulled the hand encased in an air cast over his chest, laying it to rest over his heart. His one hand splayed over her back, the thin cotton of that red tank top the only thing separating his hand from her flesh. His other hand moved beneath the covers and rested against the curve of her ass, pulling her even closer to his body.

He buried his face in the soft curls tickling his chin and whispered, "I'll give you fourteen days, and then it'll all change between us."

***

SUPER HERO FAMILY

DURING APOCALYPSE NOW: SOMETIME DURING LATE JUNE 2008

Emily must have been haunting the hotel again, Spencer thought as he entered the hotel lobby. The six of them—he, Garcia, Emily, JJ, Hotch, and Morgan—had all been crammed into an incredibly small, incredibly hot hotel room. He and Derek had been crammed together in a small bed and the three women were even closer together in the larger double. Hotch took the pull out couch, though it was big enough for two-and somehow Emily kept ending up with him. It wasn't making a comfortable night for anyone. He'd woken and found one of the women missing.

Spencer found her sleeping in a ratty chair in the hotel's central lobby. This wasn't the best of hotels, so he couldn't just leave her there. Not tonight, not after what had happened.

He'd killed a man today. Killed him to keep him from killing Emily.

It should have been him in the caved in building, prey to a killer, not Emily. He'd been the closest to the suspect when the guy had ran, ran right past Emily.

Spencer had hesitated—he wasn't the athletic one, the one who chased the bad guy and pulled him down.

That was Morgan.

He wasn't the cool, collected ones—the ones who did whatever had to be done without a sweat, without a thought, without a problem. That was Emily and Hotch.

He was the brain, the computer, the encyclopedia. The pipe cleaner with eyes and a gun.

He was Spencer.

He'd frozen, for an instant. Long enough for Emily to get a head start on him. For her to be in pursuit of that son of a bitch.

For her to be the one on the roof of that third story building when it collapsed. For her the one to be unconscious in the rubble with a fanatical killer standing over her.

He'd watched his colleague, his friend, watched her fall right before his eyes. He'd peered over the edge and seen her laying ten feet below him with rubble and dust swirling all around, unconscious and bloody.

But the UNSUB wasn't injured, he'd barely looked scratched. And he was standing over Emily, pulling a knife from his ragged jeans.

Then Spencer hadn't hesitated. He'd pulled his weapon and identified himself, but the man had persisted. He'd bent down, grabbed Emily by the hair.

Wrapped his fist in the long brown locks that Spencer knew normally smelled of strawberry shampoo. The knife had lowered, getting closer to her throat.

And Spencer fired. Three times. Just like Hotch had taught him to do. Then he climbed—fell—down the ten feet to get to Emily. He'd wrenched his shoulder, but he considered it a fair price to pay. So he didn't complain.

He didn't regret taking that shot. But he'd always regret that he wasn't a second faster in chasing the bastard. It should have been him.

But now here he stood, staring down at his sleeping friend, eyes scanning her pale face, taking in the two loose braids her hair had been woven into—most likely by Garcia.

He couldn't really see Emily choosing to wear school-girl braids, although they did make her look younger. With her eyes closed, Emily lost the intensity that fueled her, making Spencer aware that maybe she was vulnerable after all.

He'd never seen Emily Prentiss vulnerable—with the exception of the Joseph Smith case, and the whack she'd taken with a 2 X 4. But that didn't count because she'd still managed to give the signal for the rest of the team to get the guy.

Emily Prentiss was like one of those comic book characters he'd read about as a child. Always strong, always doing what's right, always standing up for the innocent.

But tonight she sat, vulnerable, in a hotel that wasn't all that safe. So Spencer Reid paid his penance, and sat with her.

Garcia found him there an hour later, sitting and staring at Prentiss as if she was a magic bean ready to sprout. "Hey handsome, the crowd in the room got a little thin so I thought I'd come find two of my favorite people."

"Hey, Garcia." Spencer really didn't feel like talking.

"She ok?"

"Sleeping. Probably from the medication." Spencer said.

"Good, my little chickadee needs to sleep. I have a feeling she doesn't get enough. Why aren't you out? That shoulder has to hurt."

"I, uh, didn't want to take anything. I'm really struggling, Garcia." Spencer admitted freely, knowing his confidence wouldn't go any further.

There were two people—maybe three, if he counted Hotch—whom he knew he could be absolutely frank with, and two of them were right in the room with him.

"The case? Or is it something more, my handsome gray matter?"

"I hesitated."

"What?" Garcia asked, "You took the shot. Everyone agreed it was a good shoot."

"He, uh, ran right by me. And I could have taken him down. But I hesitated and Emily ran after him. It should have been me that fell through the ceiling, Garcia."

"Nonsense. Things happen for a reason, Spencer Reid. And I saw the roof's security tape. You did not hesitate, not that I could see, and not when it mattered. You saved her life."

"It shouldn't have been her. I'm the one who always needs saving, Garcia. Never her. It shouldn't have been her. It wouldn't have been her but for me. I can't forget that."

"I think she probably has." Garcia said, wisely. "She's probably grateful you weren't the one who fell through that roof. They said she was lucky—had she weighed anymore she might have broken through those beams she landed on. You would have. It would have been much worse for you, Spence. Do you honestly think that would have been better for Emily to see? You know how much she cares about you—and Emily Prentiss is nothing if not protective of those she cares about."

"I've never seen her vulnerable like that. Unconscious. I was certain she was dead, but inside I knew that wasn't possible."

"She's human, Reid. We all are." Garcia paused, "Although, she does look a bit like Wonder Woman with the hair."

"But not the costume, or the lasso of truth. I can see Emily saying 'the only thing that can surpass our superior strength is our brain,' but I can't imagine her wearing that costume." Spencer laughed softly.

"You know what, sugar. Whenever I see you guys, watch you work, hear you talk, see what you actually do. I think of Super Heroes. My own little Justice League. What you all do is extraordinary. But no one of you is more super than the others. Emily would have done the exact same thing no matter how you replay the situation in your head, even if she knew what would have happened. Just to keep you safe."

"But I've never seen her like that. She was so still."

"I may not be a profiler, gorgeous, but I can honestly say you can't admit she's human because you see her as larger than life, as a sort of mother or big sister figure. Someone who knows the answers to things, someone who cares for you. Children can never admit their parents are weak—in any way. That's why you're so upset."

"Do I think of her in a motherly fashion?" Spencer asked, "I've never really thought about it."

"Do. She tells you the truth, doesn't she? Coddles you when you need it—I've seen her do it to both you and JJ—protects you, does little things to make things easier. Emily needs somebody to fuss over, and you and JJ provide that for her. So she wins, too."

"It is hard, to see her this way. I've never seen her or Hotch hurt or hurting like that. I've seen Rossi, Gideon, even Morgan—but never Emily or Hotch."

"Like I said, kids don't like to admit that Mommy and Daddy are weak at times, too."

"That sounds so wrong. I'm twenty seven years old, Garcia. And they're my colleagues." Spencer protested, though he knew the non-profiler had nailed his views perfectly.

"Umm. But we have formed a family, kiddo. Just look at us. We have Morgan who makes a great big brother, JJ is the sweet sister who everybody absolutely loves, Rossi's like the mysterious uncle who has done literally everything. You're the little brother we love and admire, and have to tease and protect because that's what siblings do. I'm somewhere in the middle, the goofy one who makes you all smile. The class clown, the jokester whom everyone knows not to take too seriously. That leaves the parents—who's job it is to take care of us. And they do it unthinkingly, like parents should. I'll admit, it is hard for us to see them as vulnerable. They are—but they're also incredibly strong. Superman and Wonder Woman."

"So we're a family of super heroes?" Spencer laughed, his mind replaying all the comic books he'd ever read. "If she's Wonder Woman and Hotch is Superman, what about the rest of us?"

"Honey, I've figured it all out. JJ, of course, is the Blonde Bombshell—the Black Canary who uses her voice to mystify, Derek is the sexiest superhero, aka Batman. Rossi's Captain Marvel because he's just seen so much, and me—I'm the Invisible Woman. Because all my work is done when no one can see me." Penelope smirked at the younger man beside her. Wonder Woman still hadn't woken.

"And me?" Spencer was almost afraid to ask where he fit in this family of super heroes.

"Sugar, you're the best of the lot—you're Mr. Fantastic."

"Dr. Reed Richards." Reid had to laugh. "Tall and stretchy?"

"And a super genius. Not exactly a big jump, is it." Garcia grinned. "Now we should probably get back to the hotel room. Before Daddy realizes we've ran away with Mommy."

"True, but how we going to get Wonder Woman back to the room? I can't exactly be Mr. Fantastic and manfully carry her." He motioned to the sling around his hand and shoulder.

"I guess we'll just have to call Superman or Batman to come get her." Garcia winked. "But my money's on Superman flying to the rescue."

"You've seen it, too?"

"What, the way Daddy's been watching Mommy lately?" Garcia's laugh was low and maniacal.

"I thought I was the only one who saw it." Spencer admitted, "I thought I was just seeing things—I'm not too good about the relationship stuff."

"Honey, everyone's caught on—and no two are more confused about their relationship stuff than Superman and Wonder Woman themselves."

"What the hell you two talkin about at three in the morning?" A sleepy, rumpled Derek asked as he came into the lobby. Half the team had been missing and he'd gotten concerned.

"Super heroes. And families, stud muffin. What are you doin up?" She had to admit he looked pretty good all sleepy eyed and cuddly, even though she was immensely loyal to Kevin. A girl could look as long as she had eyes, after all.

"Worried. You three disappeared."

"We were just debating how to get Wonder Woman here back to the room without waking her up. Mr. Fantastic is out of commission in the carrying department. You up to it, Batman?"

"Carry a pretty lady to a hotel room?" He teased. "My momma raised me better than that."

"Make an exception." Garcia ordered. "Or I'll email your momma a picture of you with that 'Halloween' honey you met last year—photoshopped into a nice tux and gown."

"You are a wicked, wicked woman." Derek said as he moved to pick the sleeping dark haired woman up. "I think we need to feed Prentiss a little more."

"She is a bit skinny, isn't she?" Reid asked. He didn't fully understand the looks of irony the two shot his way. "You don't really notice until she's not actually moving."

His mind shot back to the roof, shot back to seeing her lying so still in the arms of a killer. He ruthlessly pushed the image away.

They entered the small, hellish hotel room as quietly as they could, Morgan carrying his precious bundle. He stopped between the two beds and looked down at JJ sleeping so peacefully then looked at Garcia as she climbed in the bed on the other side. They were going to be hopelessly crowded in that bed. A pregnant JJ and a wounded Emily, at least, needed a decent night's sleep. "You know, Hotch has all that wasted room. Shame we can't make use of it."

"I say we do." Garcia said, enthusiastically, even though she whispered.

"I don't know, guys, who knows what they'll think when they wake up." Reid said, nervously. "It's one thing for her to sleep there of her own free will, but for us to just put her there...that's different."

"Just do it and go to bed, Derek. It's late," JJ mumbled from her spot, as Spencer retreated to the bathroom. They hadn't even realized she was awake.

"Ok," Derek mentally shrugged as Garcia reached over and pulled the cover back, revealing Hotch's FBI issue t-shirt. Even in his sleep he broadcasted his occupation. Derek lowered the woman onto the pullout mattress, arranging her head on half of the other man's pillow. He had to admit they looked good together. Strange it had taken everyone so long to notice.

He turned to head back to his own bed when a quiet male voice stopped him. It was so quiet he doubted anyone else had heard it. "I see you found her. Thanks, Derek."

"Anytime, Hotch. Good night."

Spencer came out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, having taken a shower to relieve some of the heat. Everyone was sound asleep as he stretched out on the floor beside the pullout couch, near to Emily.

He'd stay close in case she needed to haunt the hotel again before morning. It was what Super Heroes did—protecting the vulnerable.

Even Superman and Wonder Woman had their weaknesses, he thought as he looked at the two older agents snuggled tight to each other—he just wondered if they knew what theirs were.

He did. And he kind of liked where he fit in the grander scheme of their strange little family. Their own Justice League.

He rather liked that image.

CONVERSATION

DURING APOCALYPSE NOW; LATE JUNE 2008

JJ was stretched out on the bed with a can of Sprite and the crackers Garcia had found in the vending machine. She felt horrible, weak, ashamed, and so damned grateful to be out of that police station.

Palmers and his crew were horrible, disgusting sexist pigs.

They'd dared to put their hands on her and all her training, both FBI and Media Relations, had flown right out the window. Emily had stepped in, protective like always, drawing the men's fire, their attention.

But the comments still came, the accusations that they'd slept with their teammates. The accusations that they were easy. The demands for attention of the same kind.

Then Palmers had grabbed Emily, jerked her up close to him. Told her if she didn't want the attention don't wear the kind of clothes she'd had on yesterday. Told Emily he'd been able to see right down her shirt, and he'd liked what he saw. Told her she should be flattered at all the attention.

Told them they'd need to learn how to live in a man's world if they wanted to play at a man's game. Emily's knee had gotten him just short of his groin and her threat not to miss the next time had sunken in.

He'd released Emily so fast she'd nearly fallen. Threatened her that it wasn't over between them.

JJ'd known he'd meant it. He'd actually scared her—more than anything save Hinkle's dogs—more than she'd been scared while on the job.

And this was while they were standing in the middle of the police station.

"That was intense, wasn't it, little momma?"

"My aim is getting better." JJ admitted, thinking of the vomit on Palmers' shoes.

"So you did aim for his shoes. Good girl."

"Yeah, but I didn't mean to make things worse for Emily. And then we left her there."

"I have a feeling Superman is watching out for Wonder Woman."

"Wow. Did you see how intense he was?" JJ said, her awe in her voice. "I thought he was going to rip into whomever had dared touch Emily and shred him."

"But Emily tamed the beast." Garcia said, thinking. "JJ, do you think Hayley ever tamed that particular beast?"

"What do you mean?"

"Hotch is damned intense. Albeit in a sexy, alpha type of way. A cold way, I'd guess. Wouldn't he be hard to live with?"

"I'd guess so. I've never really thought about it." JJ admitted. "I think—from what I've seen and heard—that Hayley expected him to be like Ward Cleaver when he was home. Leave the office at five o'clock and forget all about what we do. Lord knows we can't really do that, can we?"

"No, baby jellybean, we can't." Garcia agreed. "That's why I think this thing between Emily and Hotch is kind of…well, terrifying. Intense."

"The way he watches her?"

"That way he stares at her. The way they seem drawn to each other. They're damned magnets. He wasn't like that three weeks ago. I wonder what changed?"

"Will said he found Emily crying at the hospital. Alone in the chapel. Said he told Hotch. Since then, Hotch's been hyper vigilant where Emily's concerned." JJ said. "You think something happened between them?"

"Yep." Garcia said, giving it some thought. "Just like I think something more happened last night then she let on."

"Never thought I'd ever see Emily that flustered—over a man, no less." JJ laughed. Emily's cool was one of the things she envied and admired about her friend.

"Over Hotch!" Garcia laughed. "I wonder if Reid or Morgan's seen what's going on?"

"Can you imagine what signals they'd be giving off if Reid figured it out?" JJ asked, laughing until her stomach whirled.

"Maybe she should just do her Mr. Right, already." Garcia said, referring to the vague description she'd dragged out of Emily less than a month ago. Her Mr. Right had sounded just like Hotch—and she hadn't been aware of it—until JJ had pointed it out.

Looks like Emily was gonna get her Mr. Right, and sometime soon, too. Goody for her, Garcia thought as her cell phone beeped and a gorgeous voice sounded over the speaker. "Hey you, sexy thing. I have a request that only you can fulfill."

"Bring it on, sugar, I'm ready for whatever you can dish out!" She just hoped Emily was ready for Hotch.

ROSSI'S READY

DURING APOCALYPSE NOW:

LATE JUNE 2008

David Rossi was ready to go back to work. He'd had enough of convalescing. He needed to be doing something, something more worthwhile then sitting on the porch with Mudgie and rotting away.

David Rossi wasn't old enough to be put out to pasture just yet.

Rossi sat in the living room, files spread before him, nightly news on in the background. Erin Strauss had called him, asking for a huge favor.

She wanted his input on a new BAU team. She wanted him to head it up for a few weeks once he returned to full duty. Wanted him to make sure the team would be equally as effective as Hotch's team, wanted to make sure they'd have a wide variety of individuals with specialized backgrounds to make them an ultimate profiling force.

Because Hotch's team was just flat out getting too busy to handle all the cases sent their way, and the two other BAU teams just weren't that good. That was part of the favor Strauss had asked as well. Rossi had been asked to reevaluate all the BAU teams' personnel records, and redistribute teams B, C, and the new D, to better balance the individuals.

Team A, Hotchner's team, was being left exactly as it was. Strauss was more than content to leave Aaron Hotchner in his little niche for the rest of his days as an agent, and his people with him. Rossi knew Hotchner was more than happy with that.

Rossi couldn't blame him. Hotch had the job he'd worked hard for, the teammates he respected—and for the most part, handpicked, and access to the woman he wanted above all else. Ironically, the one team member he hadn't hand-picked.

If Hotchner had figured out just what he wanted to do with Emily Prentiss, yet. Rossi knew what he'd be doing with her if it was him in Aaron's shoes.

Maybe that was why he had three ex-wives and Hotchner only had one.

Still, Emily Prentiss was one hell of a woman. Too bad Hotch had met her first.

The TV blipped an announcement and he looked at it out of habit. That woman reporter who never stopped dramatizing suddenly appeared on the screen, "We are now bringing you coverage from Southern California where the members of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit are holding a conference in regards to the suspected killers of twenty-four innocent people."

At the words behavioral analysis unit Rossi's attention sharpened. He turned the volume up when he saw the familiar face of the pretty media liaison filling the screen. Listened as she described why the BAU was there today.

Watched as she turned the conference over to another agent. A dark-haired, dark-eyed lady who had visited nearly every day she'd been able to while he'd been in the hospital.

His eyes immediately landed on the white bandages. At the right hand in an air cast.

What the hell had happened to Emily? She looked young, beautiful, and vulnerable, and he wondered what Hotch must have been thinking. What was he trying to achieve?

He listened as Emily described the UNSUBS, one disorganized and asocial typology, the other a submissive. Watched as she fielded questions from one man in particular.

Watched her brown eyes flash worriedly, momentarily toward

someone who must have been behind the cameras.

Some of the questions froze Rossi's blood, then heated his temper. "Rumor has it he had a knife to your throat and nearly killed you. Do you care to comment on how he died?"

Sounded like it had been bad. But he was reassured by the way she looked before his eyes. She'd curled her hair, he always liked it when she curled her hair.

He had a sneaking suspicion Hotch liked it curled, too.

For someone unacquainted with Emily, the signal she sent to the blonde beside her would have been missed.

But Dave Rossi had spent a lot of plane rides studying the nuances of the younger woman's expressions, trying to peg just who she was.

He still wasn't sure. But he'd knew enough to recognize the tensing of her lips just the little bit, followed by an almost unnoticeable gesture for JJ to skedaddle. Which the little blonde did.

Rossi's body tensed instinctively. Even through the glass tube he was attuned to his teammates. He knew Emily was expecting something to go down—and she wanted pregnant, vulnerable Jareau out of the line of fire.

Hotch appeared on screen, cold and inscrutable like always. He leaned toward Emily and she leaned toward him, instinctive, like to dark-eyed halves of a whole.

Another question was thrown out over the speakers, and Rossi tensed again. "Just one more question—wasn't it true Palmers was arrested after physically assaulting you and making sexual threats?"

What the hell? Emily had been attacked? Rossi pulled out his cell phone, ready to dial someone who could update him on what was going on. His finger hovered over the button that would link him directly with the technical analyst, Garcia. She always knew what was going down. And was the one most likely not to be at the press conference with the rest of the team.

Rossi paused a moment as movement showed at the bottom of his screen, just behind the flashing tipline number. Morgan posed, looking dark and intimidating in black Ray Bans and black fatigues. Rossi knew by looking at him that he was completely on alert. Hotch stepped closer to Emily, an instinctive reaction that signaled he, too, felt the threat.

And his first instinct was to move himself in front of her. Which he did.

Which told Rossi a lot.

Hotch's feelings for Emily hadn't changed in the last several weeks. And he was intent on protecting her from whatever it was threatening her.

No matter what Hotch had to do.

Emily ended the conference and stepped off toward the side of the stage. Hotch's hand was at her elbow. He appeared as nothing more than a lackey, subordinate to the agent they'd apparently made the deliberate face of the investigation.

He knew Emily wasn't like SA Jill Morris, out to make a name, so she was handling the press conference at Hotch's insistence. Rossi had to wonder why.

His curiosity was practically insatiable. He watched, cell phone in one hand, remote in the other-the burned one, the one he couldn't really use anymore. The one he didn't really like to look at. As Hotch moved his body even more in front of Emily's. As Morgan came up behind them, blocking Emily from the other side.

They're every action shouted to Rossi that both men sensed something—something directed not at them, but at Emily.

"Day of Judgment" were the unclear words that came from the television as what sounded like a hundred rounds of bullets sprayed across the court house foyer.

Rossi actually jumped and dropped both the phone and remote, watching anxiously as Hotch swung Emily out of the way, blocked her body with his, as they both unholstered their guns. They began to move around the column they'd taken cover behind, and the screen went completely blank.

Now all David Rossi could do was wait. Wait and pray that when the team came home—they'd all come home, in relatively one safe, and happy piece.

David Rossi hated being idle, put out to pasture, away from his team…And never more so than now.

Dammit…David Rossi was going back to work.

HAYLEY'S REPLACEMENT

DURING APOCALYPSE NOW: LATE JUNE 2008

Hayley wanted to scream at the man on the other end of the phone, but she wasn't angry with Dave. No, she was angry at Aaron, and no one deserved her wrath but him.

He'd promised to keep Jack for the weekend, it was coming up on Thursday, and she'd not heard a word from him. And he wasn't answering his cell phone.

"Listen, Hayley. I'm watching the press conference right now. Channel eighty-seven. If you don't believe me, turn it on. I'm sure he'll get back with you as soon as he can." Rossi said, from Hotch's office phone.

He'd went in to the office after watching the first press conference to get a few files, both for the project he was working on for Strauss, and to keep his mind fresh.

Basically, he'd just wanted to be out there doing something productive, rather than sitting at home looking at his mangled arm. He'd used his spare key to Hotch's office to get some of the files he was looking for and had ended up working at Hotch's desk. It had just happened, and when the phone had rang, he'd answered out of habit.

It reminded him why he never answered his own exes' telephone calls.

"Look, their showing what exactly happened out there, and I need to watch it. One of my colleagues was hurt. I'm sure Hotch will get back to you as soon as he can." With that Rossi hung up the phone very gingerly.

Hayley actually felt the desire to stomp her foot, her resentment of the BAU and it's members making her feel bitter and guilty all together.

She'd used to be so proud that Aaron was the one making monsters go away. Until she'd learned that those monsters made Aaron go away, too.

She flipped on the television, knowing Jack wouldn't wake from his nap for at least another hour. Just to see what was going on.

Nancy Grace was speaking on the screen, loud and emphatic as usual. "These are a series of clips detailing exactly what has happened over the last few days, at the Nortan Springs Police Station in California. Listen closely to the words this man, this chief of police, says. To an FBI Agent. Is it always like this for female law enforcement agents? Take a look and we'll have callers after the video."

Hayley watched as a grainy video filled the screen. It showed a young blond and she recognized her as the media liaison for Aaron's team. She hadn't heard she was pregnant, but the shape of her stomach was unmistakable. Hayley couldn't remember if Agent Jareau had ever mentioned dating anyone. Hayley watched in disbelief as several men—dressed in uniforms—badgered the young woman. Watched as the more dramatically dressed blonde she vaguely recalled as working with Aaron was pushed rudely aside. She could hear them teasing both women crudely, and she looked down the hall quickly, making sure little Jack's door hadn't opened. He didn't need to hear those things. Hell, she didn't need to hear the comments being said to the women she'd met and liked.

She watched as Agent Prentiss—whom she'd only met once or twice—stepped into the frame. Moved in front of her colleague. The woman whom Aaron had been strangely reluctant to ever talk about. She knew it had always grated on him that she'd been assigned to his team without his approval. How he'd felt she was there to spy on the rest of the team. She gasped as Agent Jareau vomited on the man's shoes. She remembered those days from her own pregnancy. She tightened her hands on the arms of the chair when the man actually jerked toward JJ. Was he really going to attack her? Oh, God, where was Aaron and the rest of his team?

Hayley might not have been a profiler but she'd spent years married to one—and the woman who stepped in front of Jareau to protect her didn't have an alternate agenda.

Hayley actually covered her mouth at the filth spewing in SSA Prentiss's direction. Bitch, whore, other words Hayley cringed at hearing. All rained out of the man's mouth as he jerked the dark haired woman against his chest, looked down her shirt.

Hayley actually cheered when the woman kneed the son-of-a-bitch where it mattered most.

The filming stopped for a moment, and Nancy Grace reappeared. "It's not over, folks. Some people just don't know when to stop. Take a look at the rest of the video."

The second clip showed the same players, only Aaron, SSA Morgan and Reid were present as well. She watched as her ex confronted the son-of-a-bitch who'd said such vile things to SSA Prentiss.

Nearly dropped the remote when the man told Aaron to get his little whore out of his precinct. Said he'd give SSA Prentiss something to enjoy—something a whole lot hotter than what she was getting from Aaron.

Moved closer to the television when the man she'd been with for over twenty years lost his temper in a way she'd never, ever, seen him do. Feared for a moment, he'd kill the man—right there on screen.

She watched in complete puzzlement and astonishment as Reid jumped out of Aaron's way, as Morgan and another man she didn't recognize jumped to block Aaron's path. As Aaron struggled against them both and would have made it around them.

But SSA Prentiss stopped him.

Hayley watched as SSA Prentiss-Hayley couldn't even remember her first name-wrapped one hand around Aaron's arm and said his name. Called him by that nickname she'd always abhorred.

And he stopped. Just like that. Just pulled back.

Just that simple, he did what SSA Prentiss wanted, no argument, no battle, none of the hell that had characterized her every request for the last few years of their marriage.

When had that happened?

Hayley's mind was so filled with assimilating the idea that Aaron might have found someone else that quickly after the divorce was final, that she didn't hear Richard's key in the lock.

Richard worked in the legal department of the FBI. She'd met him six months ago, when dropping Jack off at the Bureau for a visitation weekend with Aaron. They'd been sleeping together since the week after the divorce was final. He'd had a key for nearly a month, now.

Unlike Aaron, Richard never went into the field, was never gone for more than an overnight consultation. Never bottled everything up inside and shut her out.

This weekend marked a turning point in their relationship. They were going out of town for the weekend, and Aaron was supposed to keep Jack. If she could get a hold of him by Friday afternoon, that was.

"Hi, sweetheart. What are you doing?" Richard asked in his slightly nasal tone.

"Press conference for the BAU." She said, hesitantly. He didn't really like hearing her speak of Aaron. Their divorce was still a little to recent for him to be entirely comfortable.

Especially since he worked in the same building as Aaron. Aaron had something of a reputation, apparently. And Richard was scared of him. Hayley had reassured him that Aaron would never physically lash out against anyone, no matter what the provocation.

She wasn't so sure about that after what she'd just seen.

She sighed, eyes still on the screen, as she wondered briefly—when was the last time he'd fought like that for her? Instead of fighting with her.

She couldn't remember.

As Richard leaned in to kiss her, she closed to her eyes and made one wish for the man she'd always care about. She had spent the last twenty years of her life with Aaron, and she'd always have a place in her heart for the father of her child.

She wished, briefly, that he'd find someone who'd understand him better than she ever had. Someone who'd know him better than himself. Aaron deserved that. Maybe SSA Prentiss could be that person.

***

HOPE

MID TO LATE JULY 2008

Erin Strauss didn't hate Aaron Hotchner, no matter what everyone else thought. Strauss was actually quite ambivalent to the man. Her main goal was preserving her unit and her status in it. With Agent Gideon long retired, Hotchner was the only one in their unit who could effectively take her place, and she knew it.

A woman in her position had to be careful if she wanted to keep that position. But after the Joseph Smith case nearly a year ago, and David Rossi's recent brush with an exploding SUV, she'd come to realize one very important thing—Aaron Hotchner was doing exactly what he wanted to do, and she needn't fear for her job. So there was no awkwardness when she approached Hotchner about accompanying his team on another case.

"You want to what?" Hotch repeated. The team was waiting for his go ahead to leave. They'd just been about ready to head home for the weekend when JJ had gotten a call.

"I—and Supervisory Special Agent Sidle—will be accompanying your team on this case. He'll be heading up the new Team D of the BAU. I want him to see exactly how a case is handled from beginning to end." Strauss said, motioning to the dark haired man standing in her office.

He was tall and wiry, with similar coloring to Hotchner, though his eyes and hair weren't as dark. He was roughly the same age as Hotchner, as well, but his eyes didn't have that tight look that characterized the head of the Bureau's premiere BAU team.

Hotch had seen more than this man. And that was more than evident.

"Yes, ma'am." Hotchner said, knowing there was really no logical objection he could form. "We're heading wheels up in forty five minutes. We'll be doing a briefing on the plane."

"We'll see you there, Agent Hotchner, that will be all." Strauss dismissed.

HOTCHHOTCHHOTCHHOTCHHOTCH

Emily, JJ, and even Garcia were bunched together at the small table at the back of the plane, laughing stealthily at the most recent Photoshopped pictures of Derek, Hotch, Rossi, and even Reid, currently playing on Garcia's laptop.

Three of the four men in question had no clue they were the object of the giggles from the three feminine parts of the team. Rossi—still not completely physically recovered—had chosen to stay behind and work on something for Unit Chief Strauss. JJ stood, still smiling, and began her routine visit to the cockpit to give the signal that the team was ready.

She stopped as a flurry of footsteps registered. She turned, and was the first to see Strauss and the two men accompanying her.

"Ma'am?" She said, in greeting, and in question, as Garcia hurriedly shut her laptop and attempted to look innocent.

Emily just had an extremely wary look on her face, and a hint of suspicion in her dark, dark eyes. She and Strauss had never warmed up to each, and Emily doubted they ever would.

"If I may." Hotch said, standing as the three new people took seats. "Unit Chief Strauss and Supervisory Special Agent Sidle, and—"

"SSA Reice Ramierez." The other man introduced quickly. He was equally as tall as Derek, and his skin was only a shade lighter. He wasn't a bulky as Derek, but his build left no doubt he was toned and strong.

"SSA Ramierez will be observing and assisting us on this case. They will then be forming a Team D. Any questions?" Hotch asked, and when no one replied he turned to JJ. "Go ahead and tell them we're ready. Portland is waiting."

"Yes, sir." JJ said, one hand resting on her six month belly. Pretty soon she'd not be flying with the team, and she was well aware of it. She was already confined completely to police stations and hotel rooms. Honestly, she wasn't that upset about it. She'd seen so many dead victims—most of them women—that she was grateful for the break.

"SSA Hotchner, are you ready for a briefing?" Strauss demanded, thoughts of the last case she'd worked with this particular team niggling the back of her mind. It was the one and only time she'd been in the field. She still had the nightmares about that woman. Sometimes, the woman's hair grew so long that it wrapped around Erin until she couldn't breathe. Sometimes, it was Agent Prentiss who they'd not gotten to in time. Sometimes it was Erin herself.

Not that she'd ever tell anyone that, though.

"Let's introduce the team, first. We customarily wait until after take off to begin spreading out the files." Hotchner said, as he settled into his seat beside Prentiss—Emily. Ever since the night the team had spent sleeping in an old North Dakota barn, he'd made a conscious effort to let himself think of her as Emily instead of the elusive SSA Prentiss. Now, over two months later, and all he thought about was Emily. About how she'd looked sleeping spread over his chest, how she'd looked in that damned tiny tank top she favored, how that red, red bikini had stolen the very breath from his body on a soft sandy beach. How he'd told her that he wanted her. How he'd told her to make up her mind, one way or the other. How he'd given her time. How that time was now up.

"Supervisory Special Agent Scott Sidle, SSA Ramierez," Strauss began, and motioned to the tall dark man who smiled, revealing a slight and charming gap between his teeth. "SSA Aaron Hotchner, SSA Derek Morgan, SSA Emily Prentiss, SSA Dr. Spencer Reid, SA Jennifer Jareau, and Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia."

"Nice to meet you." Sidle said, smiling at everyone individually.

Hotch didn't miss the way his eyes lingered ever so slightly longer on Emily. Several moments passed, as everyone buckled their belts for take off. It was an unusually silent group. Emily sat near JJ, knowing that take-offs had been making her friend nauseated for the last couple of trips. She didn't want Strauss to see JJ getting ill, and knew it would be only a matter of seconds after the plane stabilized before JJ would be out of her seat and rushing toward the rear of the plane.

Sure enough, as soon as the light went out, signifying they could move around again, JJ was up. Emily stood quickly and blocked the line of sight to the restroom. Garcia, across the aisle and beside Derek, stood as well, making a big production of adjusting her laptop and searching through files.

Hotch smiled inwardly, knowing what they were doing. The team protected their own. And Erin Strauss was the biggest threat to the team. If she said JJ couldn't be a part of the unit until after her maternity leave was over—then so be it.

He could easily have told them they didn't have to worry—he'd long squared away all their positions with the team. They were the best and they functioned the best when they were together. Even Strauss had to know she'd only be hurting herself if she tried to dismantle the team.

JJ was back within a few moments, face pale, one hand resting on her stomach; she smiled at Emily and nodded, wordlessly conveying that she was alright.

Hotch, ever observant, saw the little exchange and turned to the rest of the group as Emily and JJ took their seats and opened their files. Hotch tried not to let himself be distracted by the sweet strawberry scent of Emily Prentiss's shampoo.

Sometimes he wondered if she knew strawberry was his favorite scent, his favorite flavor of sweet. Wondered if she knew, and did it on purpose. Wondered if she knew he'd taken a bottle from her things weeks ago. He kept it in his bathroom, just as a reminder of her.

"Three weeks ago, Portland authorities found the bodies of six women. Late twenties to mid thirties, in the greater Portland area. They'd been systematically raped, tortured, burned, and asphyxiated. Special Agent Calvert of the Portland field office called us personally to ask for our assistance. The case was deemed federal because pictures of the women were mailed from a Seattle postal address." JJ began, as each of the regular team members opened their files. Emily handed hers to Strauss, while Reid and Derek shared theirs with Sidle and Ramierez. Hotch shifted slightly so Emily could read his file. She moved ever so much closer and his body tensed.

It took all his years of training to make his body relax. They'd grown so much closer in the last several weeks, and his body craved hers, cried out for what she'd yet to give him.

"Calvert—isn't he the guy we worked with the last time we were in Portland?" Reid asked. "What made him think we could help with this?"

"It's not what's happened or how the bodies were found," JJ read from her notes of the transcribed telephone conversation. "But what's being done to them. Both pre- and post- mortem. He said it sounds like a real sick son of a bitch and thought that SSA Hotchner and SSA Prentiss could help."

"What? Not the rest of us?" Derek smirked. "Now I'm heart broken."

"Calvert really seemed to, um, respect, Emily's investigating abilities the last time we were there." JJ said, snickering softly as her dark-eyed colleague rolled her eyes and leaned back in the seat. "I think he probably would have preferred a solo consult."

"Not with that again, Jayje." Emily said, sighing inwardly—why was JJ and Garcia so obsessed with her love life? Didn't their own, more active love lives keep them busy enough? JJ had a fiancé waiting for her at home, and Penelope had her Kevin. Emily had a body pillow she snuggled every night along with a completely reluctant cat. It just wasn't the same.

"Ladies." Hotch said, slightly warningly. "Anyway, we've agreed to take the case. So let's continue, shall we."

"So what do we know?" Reid asked, turning to the great computer guru. "Do we have any IDs?"

"Not yet. Bodies were, um, too badly mutilated to even work with dental." Garcia said, "I've sent everyone copies of all we got on their handhelds. Chief Strauss, if you give me a moment, I can forward the information."

"Please, Ms. Garcia." Strauss said, though she really didn't want to see those pictures. It baffled her how the members of Hotchner's team barely flinched upon opening their files. She wondered briefly if they were ever plagued by nightmares.

"So we've little to go on." Ramierez said, "What will you do next?"

"Sleep." Hotchner said, emphatically. "Portland is a long flight, and once we get there we'll work long hours. Take the rest when you can get it."

Strauss started to object, but realized what the man said made sense. Hotchner's team all stood, pulling blankets out of compartments, pillows, headphones. Jareau moved to the opposite side, stretching out on the slightly longer bench. Hotchner made no action to move, instead spreading his long legs out and leaning back in the seat. Strauss, herself moved to the seat vacated by Jareau. It was the furthest from the rest of the group. She'd never been comfortable sleeping among others.

"You don't want to sit there." Hotch said, matter-of-fact.

"And why not?"

He motioned to Emily, who had arranged a pillow near his thigh. "She kicks like a mule. You'll be directly in the line of fire."

"But there's plenty of room." Strauss argued. Prentiss said nothing, already nearly out. The last case had been a tough one—the last several ones had been tough ones, for her especially, and she welcomed any sleep she could get.

"Trust me." JJ said. "The woman kicks unbelievably bad."

"Yes. Last time we had to share a one bed hotel room—we made her sleep on the coffee table." Garcia added. "I think she traumatized it."

"You're kidding?" Sidle said, looking at the woman in question. She'd fallen asleep with the ease of a child, unaware she was the topic of conversation. He envied that. "She's that bad?"

"Yes." Reid said. "I made the mistake of sitting there a few months ago. She kicks much harder than Hotch. Before that I don't think we even noticed her kicking much."

"Apparently I kick like a nine-year-old girl." Hotch said, drolly, eyes closing. He was unaware that his hand was absently tangling in Prentiss's dark curls. Unaware that Chief Strauss's eyes were tracking the movement in surprise and speculation. "Prentiss is a lot higher on the kicking ladder."

As he spoke the woman in question began to move, a soft sigh releasing from her lips. One hand snaked out, stretched above her head and glanced off Hotch's hip. He didn't even open his eyes, just grabbed the offending fist and gently tucked it back under the pillow, where it could grip the cotton tightly. It was obvious to all who watched that he'd done the same before.

JJ spread her blanket over her legs and twisted on her side. Sleeping wasn't always easy in her condition. Garcia, stretched out on the other end of the seat, grabbed the end of JJ's blanket and straightened it. "Sleep, little Momma."

"That's all I do any more, Pen." The blonde woman said, drowsily.

"That's all you need to do right now, Jayje." Garcia said. "So that my godchild is happy."

"Yes, ma'am." JJ said, drifting off easily. Garcia soon followed, her head pillowed on the polka-dot feather pillow she left on the jet for the rare occasions she accompanied the team.

Soon the cabin was silent, the women all sleeping. Hotch found it difficult, he couldn't relax with Strauss on the plane, and with Emily so close. So he opened his eyes and looked around at the rest of the passengers. Morgan and Reid were both reclined in their seats and were dozing. Sidle and Ramierez were still awake, though neither was talking.

Sidle noticed Hotch was awake and he turned toward him. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?" Hotch whispered as Emily flipped over, the blanket tangling around her knees. He absently reach a hand down and pulled the soft material free.

"Send your female agents out. Knowing that they might fit the victimology." Sidle said, eyes moving from the obviously pregnant blonde woman to the dark-haired woman sleeping so fitfully. "How do you prevent them from becoming victims, or targets?"

"You look at them as agents first, women second. You know their strengths and their weaknesses. JJ—Agent Jareau, she's a media liaison, and she goes—went—in the field, but never alone. SSA Prentiss, its different with her. She's fully qualified for any situation. But if possible, no one goes anywhere alone." Hotch explained. "You've also got too realize that someday, in some case or another, sooner or later we all will fit the victimology. Black male, white male, dark haired female, blonde female. Unfortunately, they'll fit the victimology much more than the rest of us. It's the nature of serial killers that most have sexualized components. We accept it. We have to."

"So it doesn't bother you? Sending them out?" Ramierez asked.

"Yes. It bothers me. Each and every time. I sent a female agent home and an UNSUB ambushed her in her own home. I once sent Prentiss alone into the home of a serial killer who cut his victims' hearts out. While they were alive." Hotch said, bluntly. This was information every team leader had to know. Especially in the BAU. "She was the best chance of stopping the guy. She came out of it with a concussion. I know that on every case someone could get hurt. That will always bother me."

"But you do it." Sidle said, understanding. He'd had female agents on his teams before. In fact, he was thinking of bringing two onto his new team in the BAU. "Even though you can't be with them in every case."

"They'd not respect me if I treated them any differently than I did those agents over there." Hotch motioned to Morgan and Reid. Morgan had his headphones on, most likely to drowned out the mumblings of the younger man beside him. Reid talked in his sleep incessantly.

"Yet you're not running your fingers through Dr. Reid's hair." Sidle pointed out.

Hotch's eyes flashed and he looked down, finding that he was indeed running his fingers through the dark curls. "It helps her sleep, knowing she's not alone. Helps keep her still. We all have nightmares. Sometimes they're easier to fight if you're not alone."

"I think, Agent Hotchner, that you chose to sit there knowing what would happen." Sidle said, probing the other man. "Is there something there?"

"That's none of your business." Hotch replied. "SSA Prentiss is a valued member of my team."

"Hey, I'm not condemning." Sidle said, holding up his hands. "She's a beautiful woman, you're free to do whatever you like. I can't say that I blame you, even."

"I suggest you sleep, SSA Sidle. Tomorrow's going to bring a lot you won't be expecting." Hotch said, deliberately twisting his fingers in Emily's hair. He looked down at her, hoping it would calm some of the anger he felt at the other man's inferences.

Not that the inferences weren't dead on—or about to be. He'd long thought about it. Those dark eyes of hers would see through to the very soul of him. Would see in to him while he was in to nothing but her. He couldn't get her out of his head, as if he'd become obsessed.

That both intrigued him and terrified him on so many levels.

Emily woke nearly three feet south on the bench then where she'd started out. Her knees were curled up to her chest, and her head was still on her pillow. But she wasn't alone on it. Hotch had stretched out, propping his knees up to fit on the bench and his dark head rested mere inches from hers.

It didn't surprise her. Waking up with him had almost become a habit, especially since the case where she'd woken in a barn curled up in Hotch's warm arms. And he'd deliberately chosen to sleep beside her each and every time possible since then. Nobody ever said anything, nobody ever sent them strange looks. Nobody even cared. Not anymore. It just was. Penelope and Morgan continued to flirt, though she was more than happy with Kevin, JJ still made Reid so unbelievably nervous at times—and Hotch slept by Emily.

She hadn't minded, she just slept better knowing he was near. Strange that it had happened so quickly, but it had. It just was. And that scared her.

It took her a moment to remember Erin Strauss and her new agents. Strauss was already awake—she was the first of any of the passengers. She'd noticed right away that Prentiss and Hotchner's fingers were entwined.

Fraternization was not something that was generally acceptable in the bureau, although she knew it happened. She wasn't sure what she'd do if she found out there was something unprofessional going on between Hotchner and his subordinate. Still—she knew they had an horrible job, so what if they'd chosen each other to help them get through it? As long as they kept it out of the office, should she really object?

It was something worth thinking about.

Hotchner awoke mere seconds after Prentiss, something he always did. He smiled at her, softly. Like he always did, now. For one moment it was as if it was just the two of them. Then he too remembered the unit chief. He sat up, though his movements showed no hint of awkwardness. He always woke immediately clear headed.

A part of him wanted Strauss to confront him about Prentiss. Then he could make it clear she was to stay out of his—and Emily's—private lives. Not that they had one together, yet. But if they had…when they had…it would be best to make his position clear from the very beginning.

"Agent Hotchner, I believe we will be landing soon." Strauss said, deciding to hold off on confronting him for the next little while. She'd watch them throughout the case and then make her determination. "Shouldn't we begin another briefing?"

"Just a moment, ma'am." Hotch said, rubbing his face as Emily sat up slowly. It always took her a moment to get her orientation when she first awoke. More than a moment. "Everyone usually takes a few moments to freshen up before we begin."

Emily stood, grabbing her small toiletry bag from beneath her seat. She didn't speak to anyone, just stumbled to the back of the plane, bleary-eyed.

"It takes her a while to wake up." Morgan said softly, as he stretched. "I don't suggest talking to her for at least fifteen minutes. It wouldn't be pretty. I'll make coffee."

He stood, nudging Reid as he did so. The younger man grunted, snuffled a little, then his eyes popped open and his body went tense so quickly Strauss nearly jumped. Spencer Reid was one very unusual man.

"Morning, Hotch." Reid said, as JJ and Garcia—as well as the two new agents—stirred. "We almost there?"

"We're about an hour out." Hotch said, as he stood to head to the second restroom. He always felt better after taking a quick sink bath and changing into fresh clothes. When he stepped out he was awake, clean, and presentable. He met Emily on his way out and he allowed her to pass before him into the main cabin. "Once everyone's awake we'll go over what we have."

JJ stood almost silently and Hotch and Emily quickly got out of the way. They'd worked with her on enough cases since she'd announced her pregnancy to know that when she first woke up, they had to get out of her path to the restroom and quick.

Soon everyone was spread out around one of the small tables going over everything they had while they ate breakfast. Hotch seamlessly passed Emily part of his blueberry bagel and she handed him the last strawberry jelly packet. The BAU team had eaten countless breakfasts together and they all knew what their friends ate. Strauss and the new agents watched slightly baffled at the way food flowed as if by magic around the little table. They watched as Morgan topped off Emily's coffee, as Spencer handed JJ a box of juice, how Hotch cut his orange in thirds and handed one third to Garcia, one to Emily, and kept one for himself. Watched Morgan snag the bagel Emily tossed to him, watched Garcia pop a pair of pop tarts in the small toaster and hand one to Reid.

It was a strange team that didn't need words to communicate and Strauss was almost in awe of them. Almost. Their methods were also slightly disconcerting, if she was completely honest. Their rapport was remarkable.

"So where will we begin?" Sidle asked, chewing on his own bagel from his spot beside Emily. He'd deliberately settled himself beside the pretty brunette—both because she was an attractive woman and to gauge her team leader's response.

"First, we'll rendezvous with Calvert, get anything new that's developed. Go over victimology. JJ and Garcia will set up in the local police department. Emily, Morgan, Reid, and I will go to the dumpsite or sites—JJ, was there more than one?" Hotch paid Sidle no mind, just handing Emily the last chocolate chip muffin.

"Yes, sir. They found two separate sites, approximately four miles apart." JJ said, more than content with the chocolate pudding cup she'd pulled from the plane's refrigerator. It was her not-so-secret pleasure, especially since getting pregnant. "Both near rivers."

"Emily, you and I will take the first site. Morgan, Reid, you take the second. JJ, you and Garcia…" Hotch looked at the two blonde women, expectantly.

"We know. We go straight to the station, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars." Garcia said, having heard the spiel before.

"Chief Strauss, why don't you accompany JJ and Garcia?" Hotch suggested, "SSA Sidle, can ride along with Prentiss and I, Ramierez with Morgan and Reid."

Strauss wanted to object his taking charge, but she really didn't want to see another crime scene. Not yet. One set of nightmares was enough. "That sounds good."

The pilot announced an imminent landing and advised everyone fasten their belts. Everyone moved to do so, Emily being the last to move. She lost her footing as the plane began a quick descent. SSA Sidle reached out a hand and caught her before she landed full in his lap.

She laughed, slightly embarrassed, as he held her steady until the plane leveled slightly and she could turn back toward her seat and the man beside it. Hotch had reached for her the moment he'd seen her stumble, but had been too late. He took her hand as the plane continued it's downward path, and pulled her first to him. He held her tight until the plane leveled out then helped her quickly into her seat and her own belt.

"You ok, Agent Prentiss?" He asked, though his tone belied the professional address he'd given her. He searched her face quickly.

"Yes. You'd think I'd learn to move a little quicker." She said, ruefully. "How many times has something like that happened to me now?"

"Thirty- three." Spencer said, distractedly. "You always misjudge the landings, Em. With planes, trains, and automobiles. In the last three months alone—eighteen. Hotch has caught you ten times, Morgan five. Dave, at least twice. And I believe you landed on me once, as well."

"Thanks for that accurate report of my clumsiness, Reid." Emily said, keeping a straight face as she looked at the younger man.

"Any time, Emily. At least you didn't elbow anyone—again." Reid said, actually sending her a wink. Emily was one of the three women he felt truly comfortable with just being himself. He'd actually learned to tease a little bit. He'd not admit it, but even when he'd been so bitter towards her, and angry at her questions, he'd always secretly been thankful for the way she'd not pulled her punches with him like the rest of the team had. "That really hurt."

It made him respect her immensely, now. Plus, it was what he'd imagined a mother or a big sister would do. Emily was part of his family now, and he enjoyed her maternal fussing over him. He also kind of liked seeing the way Hotch was changing around her. Hotch was one of the men Reid truly admired. If those two ever figured things out between them, it would bring hope to the BAU. Just like JJ's pregnancy had. The way Garcia's comments did.

Sometimes, Reid knew the only thing a family had was hope. As he felt the plane land, he wished quickly that the team would be able to offer the world one little bit of hope—that they'd catch the bastard responsible for those women's deaths before any more women were killed.

And that the team remained safe while they did it.

***

CHAPTER TWO

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Two bureau vehicles waited when they deplaned. Calvert and another agent stood waiting to chauffer them to the Portland field office. Calvert greeted them and introductions were quickly made.

"Thank you for coming so quickly." Calvert began, smiling almost imperceptibly at Emily before continuing in his thick Bostonian accent. "We've booked you into the same hotel you were in last time, but I figured you'd want to get started as soon as you got here."

"Has there been any new developments?" Strauss asked, holding her bag tightly.

"We've finally IDed some of the victims through DNA. We, uh, found three more bodies about an hour ago. No identification on them just yet."

"Anything different about his site?" Morgan asked, as he lifted first JJ's then Garcia's bags into the back of one vehicle.

"Same as before." Calvert said, taking Emily's bag and placing it next to Strauss's. "Bodies were found less than a mile south of the second dump site. Same general positioning. Nothing's been disturbed. I figured you all would want to see it first."

"We'll swing by there first." Hotch decided. "JJ and Garcia, you're to stay with the vehicles. Everyone else will spread out and see what you can find. If he's dumping three at a time we haven't got the time to waste."

"Yes, sir." The team members murmured. Calvert climbed in the vehicle and Hotch, Strauss, Sidle, and Emily follow his lead. Morgan and the rest of the team crammed into the second vehicle and soon they were speeding toward the Portland field office.

"What can you tell us about the victims?" Emily asked, from her cramped position in the back seat between Sidle and Hotch. Both men took up an inordinate about of space, just for their long legs alone. She was pressed flush against Hotch, his warmth heating her side. He smelled like Hotch, slightly more expensive aftershave, and the strawberry jelly he'd so enthusiastically spread over his bagel that morning. He was always like a kid when it came to strawberries.

"Melinda Carmichael, age 32. Brown and brown. Disappeared on her way to car outside a small grocery. Tara Ann Seymour, 36. Dark brown and brown. Went missing outside her eight year old's elementary school. Melissa Morten, 34. Blonde and green. Missing outside a local Wal-Mart. They've been missing roughly six weeks. All were found at the first site." Calvert said as he navigated the busy Portland streets. "Ava Ariset, 29, brown and brown. Missing outside a grocery store. Katherine Walls, 27, brown and green, missing from outside her home. Her vehicle was found running. And Roberta Fae Mallory, 38. Brown and brown. Missing from outside a video store. Missing four weeks."

"Any signs of a struggle?" Hotch asked, moving an arm to rest behind Emily, freeing a little more space in the backseat.

"No. Other than the running vehicle, it was like they just walked out of the public locations and disappeared." Calvert said. "No witnesses, no real physical evidence. They're just…gone."

"So how will we find this guy?" Strauss asked, nearly sickened. She did her best work in an office, and that was becoming more than abundantly clear.

"We'll go to the scene, gather as much information as we can, then start the initial profile," Hotch said, as the vehicle pulled into a DNR parking lot near the Columbia River close to where the bodies had been found. Soon, he and the other passengers were out of the vehicles and ready to begin work. "Calvert, I'll need your agent to remain here with the vehicles and assist TA Garcia and SSA Jareau in anything they need."

"Yes, sir. SSA Stone? See to that the ladies have everything they need." Calvert ordered. "The bodies are just over that ridge there."

Soon, Calvert was leading the way, Hotchner, Morgan and Prentiss directly behind him. Sidle, Ramierez, and Strauss were a moment behind them, and Reid was in the rear. That way he could observe the newest members of the team unobtrusively.

What he saw intrigued him. He watched as Emily stumbled slightly. Sidle and Calvert reached for her, to steady her. Hotch merely reached a hand behind him, and Emily took it wordlessly, accepting his help without reservation.

Reid thought all the male attention was making his pretty colleague a little uneasy. Reid might not be a ladies-man like Morgan, but he wasn't completely oblivious to the undercurrents suddenly surrounding Emily. He hadn't missed the way SSA Sidle's eyes lingered on Emily, the way Calvert had of smiling at her directly, or even Hotch's hovering.

They climbed and crested a hill, and started down the steep decline that lead closer to the river. It was a bit of a difficult height, but they all managed it relatively easily, with the exception of Strauss. The woman's heels weren't exactly conducive to hiking. No one moved to coddle her.

Calvert led them to the cordoned off area where the bodies were located. They had been nestled like Russian dolls, one directly on top of the other.

Strauss had to look away. Had to move away. Hotch knew almost immediately this was like nothing the woman had ever seen before. He grabbed her arm and turned her, blocking the grotesque view. She looked at him, tears in her eyes.

"How do you do it?" Strauss asked, huskily. "How can you look at them day after day?"

"Somebody needs to. Those bodies are someone's mothers, wives, and sisters. If we don't do it, who will?" Hotch said honestly. He could sense the members of his team as they inspected the scene from outside the forensic tape. "It's never easy. Never. If you need to, you can go back to the vehicles. JJ could probably use the help with any rubberneckers or bystanders. No one of us will think any less of you if you choose not to see this."

"No. I need to see this through." Strauss said. His words that those bodies were someone's mothers hit her unbelievably hard. What would it do to her children if they came out of their school and she wasn't there waiting for them?

"Take deep breaths. Try to distance yourself as much as you can. If you need to look away at any time, do it. If this doesn't touch you in some way, it should. Don't forget that you are human, too."

"Thank you, Agent Hotchner." Strauss whispered, squaring her shoulders. "I think we have a killer to catch."

"Yes, ma'am. We do." Hotch turned around and led her over to Morgan, Sidle, and Emily. They stood nearly forty feet away, staring up into the trees over the dump site.

A hunting blind was built about thirty feet up. Foliage nearly hid it completely from view.

"Is that supposed to be there?" Emily asked, one hand shielding her eyes from the early morning sun.

"I don't think so, ma'am." A nearby forestry agent heard the question. "This is recreational, not hunting area."

"So if it's not supposed to be there, why is it?" Strauss wondered aloud. "And how the hell you get up there?"

"Probably like this." Emily said, softly. "Derek, give me a boost."

"Gotcha." Morgan wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted, raising her just enough that she could grab a low hanging branch. "Careful, chick."

Strauss and the men below watched as she nearly effortlessly pulled her feet up and then her upper torso. They watched as she moved from branch to branch until she reached the hunting blind.

"So the UNSUB's most likely male, and at least my height." Morgan said. "No shorter."

He easily jumped and grabbed the branch that had been slightly out of Emily's reach. He quickly followed her path. "Relatively fit enough to pull his upper body weight initially into the tree. Hotch, man. He could probably have seen the last two dump sites from here, easily. We're on a bit of a hill."

"So…he returns to the bodies." Reid postulated, having hurried over at seeing his two team mates climbing like monkeys. "And what?"

"Relives the experience." Hotch said. "While you two are up there, anything that stands out—other than the view."

"Nails are hit in at a left-handed angle. So he's most likely left-handed." Morgan called down.

"Joints are precise, boards are flush. He's a relatively skilled carpenter." Emily added, she lay down on her stomach after ensuring their wasn't much forensic evidence to be disturbed, and looked over the side at the people staring up at her from below. "The underside's well constructed. It's a very sturdy piece, and I doubt it's been here that long. The wood doesn't appear to be weathered at all."

"Less than two, three months, tops." Morgan agreed, moving into a similar position as Emily. "Nothing special about the wood or the hardware, Hotch. Could have been purchased at any lumber yard."

"Come down, now. We'll head over to the field office." Hotch ordered, "And the other sites. Check for any similar structures or whether this was his only vantage point. And Emily—be careful, you don't want to reinjure yourself."

"Yes, sir." Emily called down. "Morgan's coming first!"

"Why me?"

"Because if I fall, I want something soft to land on!" Emily snarked at him. Then she whispered. "I don't want them all staring at my ass as I climb down, Derek! What's going on with them? Am I releasing different pheromones or something? What? Tell me?"

"Well, Calvert had a thing for you last time we were here, right?" The man whispered quickly. "As for Sidle—quit smiling so prettily at him, I don't think ol'Hotch can handle it."

"So it's my fault?" Emily said, watching as the man moved to the first branch down. "How like a man!"

"What can I say, babe. You're a hot woman!" He teased. "Be careful here, this branch isn't the most sturdy. You should still be wearing that air cast."

"Gotcha. And it chafed. Be careful, Derek. I need you to protect me from them." She whispered theatrically as she began to follow him.

"So I'm harmless? From where I'm standing, Em, I've got the best view in the house." He raised his eyebrows leeringly, as he looked up at her from his position slightly below. "Its definitely worth fighting for, and I've seen the red bikini to prove it. And don't worry, girl, don't I always have your back?"

"Morgan, just get down there." Emily ordered, loud enough for the crowd below to hear. "Why is the climb down so much worse then the one up?"

"Because you can't really see where you're going, Emily." Reid called up, earnestly. "It's the fear of the unknown. Most people have an innate fear of falling—especially women."

"Thanks, Reid. That's really reassuring me." Emily said.

"Hey, you're the one that climbed up there!" The good doctor said. "You're trying to do your Wonder Woman impression again, aren't you?"

"Reid, honey, do you even know who Wonder Woman is?" Emily called down. She was about halfway down the tree.

"Of course I do." Reid said indignantly as Morgan held on to the lowest branch then hopped down lightly. "I read all the comic books for the first time when I was like four. I mean, they're full of highly improbable actions, but I can see where young children might be enthralled."

"So Prentiss is like Wonder Woman, huh?" Derek snickered, watching the woman's descent. "Somehow I can see that."

"Don't you all have something else you could be doing?" Emily asked as she straddled the lowest branch. The jump was going to be a much bigger feat for her than for Morgan. She didn't have the upper body strength to let her self just hang and let go like he did. Pencil arms. And a dominant hand that should still be in a cast.

"Hey, girl. Just slide on down." Morgan ordered, understanding her dilemma. "I'll catch you."

"I'm going to hold you to that." Emily said, as she rolled onto her stomach gingerly and pushed off the branch, letting herself freefall down.

Morgan caught her easily, then lowered he the rest of the way to the ground. After she was down the agents formed a small circle and went over what they knew.

"He's athletic, at least five foot ten or eleven. Craftsman-type. Used to working with his hands, and pretty strong." Emily began softly.

SSA Sidle moved in closer to hear her words better. And to smell her hair, to remove the horrible stench of death that had lingered after his first sight of the bodies. He'd seen dead bodies before, but nothing quite that horrific.

He'd rather smell strawberries and warm woman. So he did, subtly. So subtly only Morgan and Hotch noticed. Emily herself didn't catch what the man was doing, so caught up in her thoughts as she was.

"He has an attachment to his victims, if only after they've been buried." Reid continued. "I'm not sure why he is burying in groups of three, though."

"Calvert, I want to see the other two sites." Hotch said. "Reid, I want you to accompany JJ and Garcia. I want you working on victimology. Something about these women appealed to him. Captured his interest, his obsession. We need to know what it is and quickly. Morgan, Prentiss, Sidle, Ramierez, and I will check out the other sights and meet at the field office when we are done."

"All his victims were white, so he's most likely a white male. Probably in the same age range or slightly older than his victims." Emily thought aloud. She rubbed her hands over her upper arms as she talked. It was an unconscious gesture, one she made when she was thinking, and Hotch recognized it for what it was. "He's a mixed serial killer. The manner in which the bodies were disposed of indicates preplanning and attention to routine, and detail. But the manner in which he abducts his victims—shouts disorganization . The running vehicle is a clear indication of that."

"It also screams of sexual sadism." Reid added. "The medical examiners said there was some foreign fluid and signs of forced penetration."

"He's most likely in his early forties." Hotch modified Emily's early hypothesis. "It's a little too early to tell, but he'd most likely fit an organized nonsocial typology. He has stable relationships, might even be married. He'll drive a truck—not new but not old. It'll be a brag item, so he'll keep it in perfect shape, clean, neat. He'll clean it up after every murder."

"He has to have someplace to keep the bodies. The first trilogy of women went missing six weeks ago. They're bodies were found three weeks ago. Those bodies hadn't been in the ground for three weeks. Original medical examiners placed the time of death on Melinda Carmichael and Tara Ann Seymour at approximately half that." Reid rambled on.

"Someplace off the path, isolated." Emily said, turning and scanning the area. "He wouldn't want to stray too far. He's got to come back to this spot. It drives him. He has to be with them whenever he can."

"He can't help himself." Hotch continued. "But there are also signs of staging. The way he positions the body, the way he nestles them almost lovingly into each other indicates some vague hints of undoing."

"Undoing?" Calvert asked.

"Undoing involves a vague attempt to almost undo or make restitution for the crime. It's a part of personation. Leads into his signature." Emily explained quickly.

"The truck will be dark in color, black, navy, dark green." Morgan added. "Something that won't stand out as extremely flashy, but it won't be a truck that blends into the woodwork either. Most likely it's only two or three years old."

"Let's head back to the vehicles. Get Garcia looking for dark colored trucks, local, with registered owners in the thirty-five to fifty age range."

"That'll be like thousands." Calvert said, overwhelmed.

"Yes, and with each bit of the profile, we'll be able to narrow it down even further." Hotch said as the group started up the ragged hill. He offered an assisting hand to Strauss, knowing better than to offer one to Emily like Calvert and Sidle had. "I want to head to the next scenes, Calvert."

"Yes, sir." Calvert said.

Emily stood almost shoulder to shoulder with Hotch as they both looked up at the hunter's blind built neatly over the first dump site. It was more than two miles from the most recent site. She, Hotch, and Sidle had accompanied Calvert to the first site, while Morgan and the rest of the party went first to the field office to drop off Strauss, JJ, and Garcia, before heading to the second dump site.

"Guess I'm going up there, too?" Emily asked rhetorically. It was either her or Calvert, and since the field agent wasn't a profiler—that left her. Hotch and Sidle just weren't tree-climbing material in their regulation Bureau blue suits.

Hotch really needed to pack some goin' outdoors kind of clothes in that ready bag of his.

"If you would." Hotch said, drolly.

"I'll need a boost." She said softly. "Think you can give me a hand?"

"No problem." Hotch said, softly. He wrapped his hands around her waist, feeling the heat of her body through the thin cotton of her lavender shirt. He lifted, pulling her body against his and then up.

Emily's hands wrapped around the bark of the branch and she pulled her body up, using all her strength plus the momentum from Hotch's lift to help propel her slightly. This climb was a bit more difficult than the previous, and her injured wrist protested.

"It's not as clean, Hotch. The carpentry's as good, but the joist to the tree is sloppier. But the woods' more aged. I think this is an earlier build." Emily called down, rubbing her wrist.

"Anything stand out?" Hotch called up.

"Yeah. I can see the dump site and about a mile radius. Just like the last site." Emily lay down on her stomach and inspected the blind's underbelly before standing again. "Hey Hotch!"

"Yeah?" He called back up, looking at her as she stood, hands on her hips, legs slightly spread above him and the other two men. She did look like a more modern day Wonder Woman. Yet another fantasy for him to add to his collection. He dreamed about her nightly. Hot dreams, dreams he couldn't forget.

"This guy is methodical, right?" Emily yelled down. "Burying three to a grave. Within a certain distance, building a vantage point to over look at least two sites, right?"

"Go on."

"Hang on, I'm coming down." Emily moved to the back of the blind, and began gingerly making her way down. Trying not to think of the three men watching her ever move. She reached the last branch and looked at her supervisor. He held up his arms and she dropped, having complete faith in him to catch her.

He did. But he didn't release her nearly as fast as Derek had earlier. She finally pulled back slightly, her dark eyes meeting his. They were both hyper aware of each other in that instant. No waffling, no skating around the issue, no worry about his career, about hers. All that was in existence was him and her. She knew how he felt, and he knew how she felt. No more playing games. No more of the time she'd insisted she needed to think.

Then SSA Sidle moved closer to the pair and the mood was shattered as quickly as it arrived. "You thought of something, Agent Prentiss?"

"I think we should have more bodies." Emily said definitively. "Everything about these scenes speaks to a strict adherence to a routine. We wouldn't find six bodies within sight of one blind, but only three near another. We need to head back to the first scene. It's not finished."

"Are you sure?" Calvert asked, with dread. If she was right—three more women were never coming home. And it was on his watch.

"Almost positive." Emily stepped away from Hotch and turned toward Calvert. "Check relatively the same distance as between the first two sites. Approximately half a mile wasn't it?"

"But why were three of the bodies nearly directly beneath the blind, but three others almost half a mile away?" Sidle asked, thinking.

"We don't know yet." Hotch said. "If we find more bodies, it may tell us the answer."

"God, I hope we don't." Calvert said, as the small band of agents returned to their vehicle. Calvert spoke into a radio, calling in more search teams, and search dogs.

"Emily, call Garcia, have her check for any more missing women who fit the general victimology." Hotch ordered, as Emily climbed into the rear seat with Agent Sidle.

"Sure thing."

Reid, Garcia and JJ—with some actual help from Unit Chief Strauss—worked almost tirelessly at the station. JJ put all the information on the case board they'd requested, along with photos of the victims and witness or family statements. Reid studied and restudied every evidentiary clue. Garcia ran database after database, hoping for a magic bullet, or at least a short-list of names.

They didn't really have much to go on. The remaining team members arrived nearly six hours later, and all studied the board for a moment.

"Did you find anything?" JJ asked, sitting in the most comfortable chair in the place. One of the younger agents in the field office had offered it to the obviously pregnant young woman. Her feet rested on the nearest trash can. Nobody complained, especially once they saw how hard she'd worked on the victimology.

"Three more bodies, right where Agent Prentiss suggested they might be." Bill Calvert said, dejected, exhausted. "And nothing more to go on."

"That's not entirely true." Emily said, touching the man briefly on the shoulder. "We have a beginning profile."

"You ready to present?" JJ asked.

"Just to this group. We have a lot of narrowing down to do first." Hotch said. "Reid, what did you all determine from victimology?"

"Blitz attacks, crime of opportunities. No one really saw anything, so all we can go on is he sees the woman, alone, comes up behind her and forces her to go with him." Reid said. "All the women involved were slightly above average height. Relatively similar builds. Hair approximately shoulder length. That's it."

"So he's not really preferential, other than body type and height." Morgan said. Calvert reentered, hustling in a crowd of a dozen more agents. "Hotch, you want to begin?"

"We are looking for a white male." Hotch began. "At least 5 ft 11. Probably taller."

"Average looking. So unremarkable that he can abduct twelve women and not leave a single person behind who remembered him." Emily added. "He's most likely in his early forties. Probably, relatively tanned and with a healthy physique. Maybe even attractive, but not remarkably so. Superficially charming, even."

"This man has no trouble fitting in to social groups, provided they don't require too much effort from him. He's all about appearances." Derek said.

"He'll have a truck, a 2003 or newer model. Dark exterior, dark interior. He'll keep it clean, neat, detailed, but it won't be a stereotypically flashy vehicle." Hotch added from where he stood between Emily and Derek. "He is, however, a stereotypical male. Athletic, outdoorsy, a real man's man persona. Nobody will doubt his sexual orientation."

"He'll most likely be in a serious relationship." Emily added. "A long term commitment. He most likely has children."

"How do you know this?" One of Calvert's younger—and more abrasive—agents smirked. He hadn't been on the team the last time the BAU had been present. "Some psychic give you tips? Tell you the lottery numbers, too?"

"SA Edwards!" Calvert barked, so loudly Emily jumped slightly. "Apologize to Supervisory Special Agent Prentiss."

"I apologize, ma'am." The man said by rote. "No disrespect meant."

"We know this because of the way he nestled each set of victims in the fetal position together. It spoke of a need to comfort the victims—even after he'd killed them." Emily said, looking at the younger agent directly. "And I deal with behavior, not psychics. Behavior's a bit more reliable. And I don't play the lottery—I have no need. Any more questions?"

"Yeah!" Edwards said, rising from his seat and moving to stand directly in front of her. "You're telling us you all know the color of the guy's vehicle and the color of his skin. Why can't you give us a name? How 'bout a license plate number?"

"Take a seat!" Hotchner ordered, in the coldest tone of voice he reserved only for the worst of serial killers. He moved to a more aggressive body position, though he didn't insert himself between his agent and Calvert's. It would lessen her authority in the belligerent agent's eyes.

"I just want the question answered." SA Edwards said, shrugging. He liked being the center of this little mini-drama. "If the Special Agent can answer, why won't she?"

"If you'll sit down," Emily said, not backing down an inch. She'd been challenged by this type before, though never this visibly. Some men just couldn't handle a woman in law enforcement—especially when she was ranked higher than he. "We are not finished."

Everyone in the room held their collective breaths, waiting for the man to do as he was ordered by an obviously superior agent. Edwards must have realized he wasn't going to win, that he didn't matter much in the scheme of things, and he withdrew, settling back down into his chair.

The rest of the profile was delivered more smoothly, Morgan and Hotch ensuring that Emily dominated the presentation. It was vitally imperative for the BAU that every agent be respected, and she'd handled herself beautifully.

Hotch hadn't liked it though. The more primitive part of him had wanted to growl at the other man until he knew not to challenge the alpha—male or female. But the saner part of him prevailed, though it had been difficult.

Why did Emily Prentiss bring out the more primitive, the more alpha version of him—more so than Hayley ever had?

Odd—considering that Emily Prentiss had held her own with both terrorists and the nation's worst serial killers. She didn't need him nearly as much as Hayley ever had. Yet he wanted to protect her far more than he ever had Hayley—both protect her from danger and from other males.

What was he becoming? What was this obsession for her doing to him?

***

HOPE THREE

Vaclav Havel said:

Hope is a state of mind, not of the world. Hope, in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy that things are going well, or willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously heading for success, but rather an ability to work for something because it is good.

Emily woke swiftly, hand reaching for her lamp beside her hotel bed. She'd drawn the short straw. Erin Strauss occupied the other bed, and Emily was less than thrilled with the arrangement.

Except for the fact that having the woman peering over her shoulder delayed the inevitable. Her two weeks were up, and she knew Hotch was ready for her answer. That he was waiting impatiently. It was in the way he lingered by her side, the way his hand brushed hers, the way his eyes had burned when he watched her. The way his knee had nudged hers under the table in the restaurant. The way his fingers had trailed down her arm when he thought no one was looking.

But that was the only good thing to having Strauss in the hotel room. It was the older woman who'd made the sound that had ripped Emily from a rather pleasant dream featuring soft sand and kissing waves. And a tall, dark-eyed man sharing that beach with her.

She refused to admit to herself that that man bore an unbelievable resemblance to Aaron Hotchner.

Her two weeks were up, and she still hadn't decided what she wanted.

The sound came again, redirecting Emily's attention to what had woken her from her dream in the first place. Erin Strauss was shifting restlessly, and Emily knew exactly what was the cause.

Emily was faced with a dilemma. She could leave the woman alone and spend the rest of the night watching her suffer—or she could have compassion for what the woman was most likely experiencing.

Emily had her own horrific nightmares, and knew it was a real bitch to deal with them alone. Emily couldn't watch anyone fight monsters alone—even in dreams. It was why she'd taken the job at the BAU in the first place. Why she'd given up her own Chicago team to relocate to Washington.

"Chief Strauss." She called in a firm voice. "Chief Strauss, you need to wake up now."

The older woman's eyes flew open, wide and bewildered, darting around the room, terrified. It took her a moment to realize where she was. "Oh. Agent Prentiss."

"Nightmares are a bitch, aren't they?" Emily asked, rhetorically. Non-judging. "Especially after a day like today."

"Did I wake you?" Strauss asked, disconcerted. "I apologize."

"You didn't wake me, ma'am. I have my own nightmares." Emily said, bluntly. "I rarely sleep more than a few hours at a stretch."

"How do you deal with them?"

"I have a cat." Emily told her, throwing her legs over the side of the bed and standing. "If that doesn't help, I write in a journal. Sit and stare at the lights below my condo. Call a friend, Derek or JJ. Cry. Whatever works that night."

"Do you…get them often?"

"Depends on the cases. At least weekly. Sometimes nightly."

"I stepped on the victim's hair. The Joseph Smith case." Strauss admitted, her guard down.

"I dream of that case, too." Emily admitted. "If you don't, that's when you should be worried. We see the most horrible aspects of human kind—more so than many Bureau agents—almost every day. We can't let it show during the day. It comes out at night. Of all of us. Every one of us has nightmares. Morgan, Reid, Garcia, JJ. Me."

"All of you?"

"Well, I know I do, JJ and Garcia, Spencer. Morgan. Rossi. I've held his hand at the hospital when he woke up screaming. I don't know about Hotch, but I'm sure he probably does." Emily said, slipping her feet into her shoes as best she could with the damned air cast back on her wrist. Time for a snack break.

Erin pondered her words for a quick moment. If the younger woman had been sleeping with Aaron Hotchner—wouldn't she know if he had nightmares?

Maybe they weren't breaking the Bureau rules, after all.

"Agent Prentiss, I'd appreciate if this remains between us."

"Of course, ma'am. In this job, you learn to respect secrets. I'm going to find the vending machines and hang out in the lobby. They have Reese's pieces in this hotel. Would you like to go?"

"Thank you, but no. I think I will email my children and my husband." Strauss watched the younger woman leave, noticed how vulnerable Agent Prentiss actually appeared in a loose t-shirt and baggy sweats. And bright pink house-slippers.

The color almost made her smile, it was something her daughters would have chosen. It was incongruous with the image Erin had formed of the younger woman as a professional agent through and through.

What secrets was the young woman hiding?

Emily crept down the hall as silently as possible, not wanting to disturb the other guests. She rapped twice on Derek's door—the pre-arranged signal that he insisted on whenever she left her room at night—as she went by.

Wandering the hotels probably wasn't the wisest of past-times. People were much more vulnerable when traveling—she knew all that, and could probably ask Reid for the exact percentage of victims who traveled. But it helped—sometimes.

She raided the vending machines, buying the last two packages of Reese's pieces, and deciding to save one for the morning. Then headed down the steps to the lobby. She knew from experience the hotel staff often burned a fire in the elaborate stone hearth in the center of the lobby.

Curling up in front of a warm fire sounded irresistible to Emily. She settled onto the large leather sofa with a soft sigh, pulling her knees to her chest.

She'd learned long ago to find her peace wherever she found herself. Tonight was no exception. Sometimes, it was harder than others. Tonight wasn't one of those times, thank God.

Hotch found her staring into the flickering flames over an hour later. She didn't hear him approach, didn't see him pause just inside the lobby—watching her. It was nearly three a.m. and she should have been in bed. He'd been awake when Strauss had called, telling him Prentiss had left their room over an hour earlier.

He'd caught Derek just coming out of his room, intent on finding their wayward ghost. He'd sent the younger man back to bed—stating he'd find her and take care of her.

Morgan hadn't argued. He thought this thing between his colleagues was good. Both men had a good idea where she was. She'd done this before.

"Emily?" He sad, softly.

She must have sensed his presence, because she didn't startle. Didn't turn to look at him. Just stared. "There's something so peaceful about a three a.m. fire, don't you think?"

"Hmm. Yes, I do." He sank down onto the sofa beside her. "My apartment has a fireplace."

"So does my condo. But I've never used it." Emily admitted, shifting closer to him unconsciously. In the last month, he'd somehow become a source of security for her—especially in the middle of the night.

"No desire?" Hotch moved his arm behind her back, pulling her even closer. Pillowing her head on his chest. He dropped a kiss to her hair, so light he didn't even know if she felt it.

"Seems like a lot of work for one woman and an indifferent cat." Emily sighed, pulling her knees closer to her chest.

He still made her nervous, more so now that he'd made no move to hide how he felt. Aaron Hotchner on the prowl was something she'd seen before—but never before had she been the prey.

And if she was honest with herself, having that intensity turned on her was more than damned sexy. It was downright burning.

The man should have a patent registered on intense heat.

"I know. When I am home, I most often have Jack. A fire's not that great of an idea." Hotch said, aware of her pressed so closely against him, soft and sleep rumpled.

"Probably not." Emily said. She'd kicked her slippers off long before he'd found her and she wiggled her toes against the soft leather. Hotch watched those toes and finally understood why some men had foot fetishes.

"So why aren't you sleeping?" She asked, unaware of the shift in his thinking.

"Strauss. She called, but I was already awake. She said you went out for candy and never came back. Actually seemed concerned." Hotch wrapped one hand around her waist and pulled her sideways over his lap, tucking her head on his opposite shoulder, thrilling when she didn't make a single move to resist. They sat there for a while, watching the flames—her on his lap, his hand running lazily up and down her spine.

Emily had noticed that when not on the clock, so to speak, Hotch loved to touch. One hand on her back, her shoulder, around her waist. In her hair. Always touching.

"I forgot about her." Emily admitted, softly. "JJ and Garcia—they only worry if I'm gone for more than an hour or so. It never occurred to me that Straus would wait up."

She actually felt guilty for worrying the woman.

"I explained the ghost of the hotel to her." Hotch said. "Told her not to worry or wait up."

They all dealt with cases in their own ways.

"So what's bothering you?" Hotch asked, hand dipping slightly in the waistband of the black sweats, the same pair she'd stolen from Derek months ago. "The case?"

"Partially." Emily admitted, closing her eyes, breathing him in. "Agent Calvert made a point to ask me to have breakfast with him in the morning."

"Does that surprise you?"

"No." Emily said. "But I hated to disappoint him."

"You turned him down." She missed his smile, but she didn't miss the way his arms tightened around her. The last two weeks had brought a lot of changes in their dynamics. Changes she still wasn't sure about.

"Of course." She wasn't the type of woman to agree to a date with one man when another had her in such knots.

"You didn't have to." He told her, firmly.

"I wanted to." Emily insisted. "I don't do well, casual dating. I never know what to talk about."

"Can't exactly talk about the job, right?" He had never been able to mention the job to Hayley. She'd never wanted to hear any of it. So after a while, what was there to talk about, besides Jack? Not much.

"Exactly." Emily sighed, her hand fisting in the t-shirt covering his chest.

It was something he'd noticed she did whenever she was almost asleep. Her hands would fist, almost an unconscious preparation for the battle that just sleeping was for her.

"I hated that. I could never really talk about what we saw, never with Hayley. She said it depressed her." Hotch said, voicing what he was the most bitter about in his marriage. "So the only people I could…"

"Was the members of the team. And a leader cannot appear weak. But what about you?" Emily asked, drowsily.

"Hmm?" Hotch was distracted by the way she was snuggling closer unconsciously. God, he'd missed holding her while she slept these past two weeks. It had been a long time since the Nortan Springs, California case. Since he'd slept beside her in the middle of the hotel room the team had been sharing. Since he'd held her to his chest and dreamed of what he'd do to her when they were finally alone.

"If it depressed your wife—what about you?" He felt her words against his neck, and he shivered slightly.

"With Hayley, what happened at the office was to stay at the office. No matter what."

"But it doesn't, does it?" Emily wove her fingers through his and he raised their hands to rest on his chest, beside her cheek. "Sometimes it's waiting for the moment you close your eyes. Waiting until your finally vulnerable."

"And then you wake up, and you're alone." Hotch added, slightly in awe that it was so easy to talk to her about it. Dave had been right, telling him he'd only have to be one man with Emily.

"That's why I got the cat. Rather, why Morgan insisted I get the cat."

"But you can't take Kurt on cases with you. So you haunt the hotel." He trailed soft kisses across her brow. Across her cheek. She didn't protest, just sort of sighed, moved closer, if possible. Relaxed against him, totally.

"Pretty much." Emily was almost out, her words stretched out and breezy. Hotch smiled, thrilled at how she'd trusted him. "So why were you awake?"

"Dreams." Hotch whispered as he watched her.

"Bad ones?" She murmured into his chest.

"No, Emily. Really good ones." He said against the dark curls. "Dreams and strawberries."

"You love strawberries." She told him, her words one last warm sigh against his neck.

"Yes, I do. Sleep, honey." He whispered. "Tomorrow comes early."

REIDGARCIAJAREAUMORGAN

Reid and Garcia found them asleep on the leather couch an hour and a half before they were scheduled to meet in the lobby. Hotch's hand was splayed over Emily's back, holding her tightly to him. Her dark hair hung over his arm, and her casted wrist lay behind his head.

"What should we do with them?" Reid's voice squeaked. This was not something he'd ever expected to be part of his job description.

"Wake them up before Strauss finds them." Garcia shrugged, pulling her cell from her pocket and taking several scandalous images.

"Me? No! You do it!"

"Do what?" Morgan asked from behind the pair. "Oh, well. Damn. Can we say about damned time? They've been dancing around each other for weeks."

"How long do you think they've been there?" Garcia asked. It was one thing for them to have to share a hotel bed in California, another for half the team to find them voluntarily wrapped close in each other's arms.

"Who knows?" Morgan shrugged. "But we need to get Em up in her room ASAP!"

"Oh my god!" Another yelp sounded from behind Morgan. They turned to see JJ, hands clutching both a package of crackers and a bag of gummy worms. She'd obviously hit the vending machines. "Go Em!"

"Go Hotch." Morgan corrected emphatically, ignoring the tiniest flicker of envy. "For a man who's not dated in two decades, he'd doing pretty damned good for himself."

"Are you all done?" Hotch's voice caused them all to jump guiltily.

"Uh, yes, sir." Garcia gulped. "But sir, Emily needs to get upstairs before Strauss realizes she's missing."

"I told Strauss she's with you and JJ." Hotch said. "She called me last night after Emily left the room and didn't return."

"I thought you'd find her and send her back." Morgan said.

"How long has she been—you know…asleep down here?" JJ asked, waving a hand emphatically.

"Since about four, I think." Hotch shifted slightly so he could stand more easily—without waking her. "I don't actually remember falling asleep, myself."

"Somebody should wake her up!" JJ said. "But I don't think it would be a good idea if everybody's staring at her!"

"You've got ten minutes, Pen." Morgan decided. "I'll go guard the hallway. JJ—you go to your room and watch from there. Reid—you go find Sidle and his boy."

Morgan, Reid, and JJ all hurried out. Hotch was more than a little reluctant to go, but Penelope wasn't taking any chances with Emily and Strauss. She gave him a penetrating look and he turned to go. He startled her when he spun around and demanded, "Is it wrong?"

"Sir?" Garcia asked, puzzled.

"Closeness, between us." Hotch nodded at Emily. He respected Penelope and her opinion. Knew that she knew Emily probably as well as JJ or anyone else on the team did.

"You're asking me if fraternization is wrong, sir? I'm probably not the best one to ask." Penelope admitted. "But I think that we are all close. It's natural, I think. You all depend so much on each other, for your lives, everything. But you and Emily? You're the superheroes, I guess, almost invincible. You fit each other, I think. Of course, I'm not a profiler, but anyone who knows either of you can see it. But I think you'll have to be very careful. Probably more so than me and Kevin."

"Thanks, Garcia." Hotch said, "I appreciate your honesty. You'd best wake her up."

Garcia watched him look down at her friend one more time, flashing back to that day a little more than two weeks ago when he'd stared down at a bruised and sleeping Emily, with such an intense look on his coldly handsome face. "Hey, handsome!"

"Yes?"

"Emily would be the first to admit she doesn't do well at dating. Not in the traditional way."

"You think?" Was Garcia right? Emily had more experience than he in the world of dating. He'd seriously dated two women in his life, Hayley and the girl before. And that had been years ago. He knew from just general office gossip Emily'd dated at least that many men since joining the BAU.

"She's not that comfortable with herself as an attractive woman, while on the job. And with a person like Emily—when is she not on the job? She downplays, probably has always had to. It could be dangerous if she doesn't, you know? After a while, it's ingrained. Virginia Beach—she had no idea why those LEOs were all acting like idiots. Had no clue that it was her they were drooling over and not just women in swimwear, ya know? You need to show her the opposite, especially while on the job."

"I do think she's an attractive woman on or off the job. She, you, JJ—you're all some of the most beautiful, attractive, funny women I've ever known." He said, in a rare moment of open honesty. He didn't miss the expression that spread over the tech's face.

"Thanks, handsome. We love you, too." Garcia said, putting a hand on the sleeping woman's shoulder. "It's nice to hear it spoken."

"I'll take your advice in mind, Penelope. And thanks." Hotch said, turning and strolling determinedly out of the lobby.

Garcia watched him a moment, a smile on her pretty face. "Anytime, Superman."

Emily's day was ass-backwards from the very beginning. The looks she'd received from her teammates disconcerted her. The new lack of tension between her and Strauss disconcerted her. Aaron Hotchner disconcerted her.

He'd shown up at their door just as Emily was about ready to head down to meet the rest of the team. Said he'd wanted to walk her down to breakfast, that they had something to talk about. He was freshly showered and shaved, his regulation suit a charcoal gray, his neatly tied tie a warm blue. He looked good, smelled good, and a part of Emily wondered if he'd taste good, too.

"Ma'am." He'd greeted Strauss. "Agent Prentiss."

"Agent Hotchner." Strauss wasn't blind to the undercurrents running between the two, as she grabbed her bag and stepped out of the room.

"Sir." Emily greeted, her voice wary, as she eyed him.

"The rest of the team's in the lobby, Chief Strauss. They're planning on finding breakfast first. Prentiss and I will join you all shortly." Hotch said, his fingers wrapping unobtrusively around Emily's elbow. Squeezing lightly.

"Excellent." Strauss said, watching the younger woman's face for any sign of reluctance. Agent Prentiss looked at her calmly, not betraying any secrets.

Strauss had figured it out at four-thirty a.m. Emily Prentiss wasn't the only woman who craved chocolate after nightmares.

She'd seen her temporary roommate cradled in the supervisor's arms. And he'd been asleep with the most peaceful expression she'd ever seen on his face in the six years she'd worked with him.

It was one of the first real signs she'd ever seen that he was actually human inside that regulation suit. She'd have to think about that, she thought to herself as she walked away, leaving the dark-haired pair behind.

Emily watched the older woman walk around the corner before turning toward her supervisor. "Are you insane?"

"Depends on the legal definition of insane." Hotch admitted, backing her further into her room. "We were supposed to have a little talk, weren't we?"

"Now?" Emily yelped. "With Strauss just around the corner. You are insane!"

"And you're nervous." Hotch said. "Are you afraid of me, Emily?"

"No." She answered immediately. "I'm not. But this, this is completely out of my realm of experience. Where do we even go from here?"

"Have you made up your mind that you want it to go somewhere? Or are we stalling right here?" Hotch demanded as he moved her enough to close the room door, lock it, back her against it—knowing his next move hinged on her answer. "Go forward or call quits?"

"I don't think either one of us can quit, Hotch." She whispered. They were too aware of each other at all times. There was no way it could go back to the way it was.

"Thank God!" He breathed, hand tangling in her hair. She'd left it down, and it was slightly damp, curling. "Thank God!"

He tipped her head back and they both knew what was going to happen next. He started down the small half step that separated his mouth from hers, once more thankful she was a tall woman and he'd not have to bend so awkwardly to kiss her.

She hadn't applied any lipstick, just a touch of berry-flavored balm that he could smell as he leaned in ever so close. Her tongue darted out, a nervous movement that made him smile. Hungrily, predatorily.

He'd be tasting her in seconds. Like he'd been doing in his dreams for what felt like forever.

Emily stared into his dark eyes, the look of intensity burning into her. She felt her breath catch in her throat as he suddenly moved her back against the door, as his left hand came up to grab the muscle of her hip, pull their lower bodies together.

She knew then that this wasn't a simple kiss. That Aaron Hotchner never did anything simple. She whispered his name as his head lowered.

He felt it against his lips, a breezy plea. He wondered if either one of them even knew what she was truly asking for.

Whatever it was, he'd give it to her.

And he did, his lips brushed hers softly, then pressed closer. She could taste the mint of his toothpaste mingling with the berry of her gloss. His tongue darted in, insistent and demanding, no sign of first kiss hesitation. Demanded an equal response from her. He pressed more firmly, demanding an answering response from her again. Demanding.

And she gave in. And held on.

HOPE

The most violent appetites in all creatures are lust and hunger; the first is a perpetual call upon them to propagate their kind, the latter to preserve themselves.
Joseph Addison

Emily forgot everything. In that instant, if asked, she'd probably not even remember her own name. All she knew was the feel of his lean body pressing her against the door, of his fingers wrapped in her hair, holding her still.

All she was aware of was his lips pressed so firmly against hers. Of the hand he ran up her side, then down to slide further around her waist to pull her lower body tighter to his.

As his hips ground into hers, she moaned, a deep sound that caused his heart to actually stutter. He dropped the hand fisted in her hair to grip her waist. He lifted her, leaned in even closer, exhilarated when he felt those long, long legs of hers wrapped around his hips. When he felt the air cast on her wrist bump the back of his neck, trying to draw him closer.

His tongue melded with hers, and the sweetness had them both moaning.

"Hotch." Emily said, and he felt it more than heard it. "Hotch, we have to stop. The team. Everyone's waiting."

"God, I know." Hotch pressed his lips to hers once again, before pulling back slightly. "Damn, how I wish they weren't."

He pulled her closer and held her tightly to him for a few more seconds before letting her legs drop to the ground. He brushed the hair off her forehead, moving the curl behind the shell of her ear. "We'll talk later, ok?"

"Talk?" Emily's lips quirked and he felt a rush of heat shoot through him. "Is that what you call it?"

He still heard the underlying tremble beneath her words. "I can think of a few other things to call it. But we really need to get going."

He ran an eye over her, taking in her blue t-shirt tucked neatly into a new pair of charcoal fatigues. Her hair was down, curling, and smelled like strawberries and woman.

Her lips were swollen, red from his kiss, and she'd never looked more beautiful. There was no way anyone on his team wouldn't guess exactly what he'd done to her.

"What?" She asked, when he'd stared at her just a little too long.

"Your mouth is swollen, your hair mussed, lip balm is gone."

"You profiling me?" She asked, grabbing her gun belt from the dresser, where she'd dropped it when he'd backed her into the hotel room. She didn't look at him as she wrapped around her waist.

"Just your mouth." Hotch's eyes were hot as he stared at her. "They'll know."

"Are you ok with that?" Was she? Emily knew things had changed irrevocably between them, but she wasn't too sure she was comfortable with everyone knowing her business. She'd always been a private person, and knew she wouldn't be entirely at ease being the center of office gossip.

"I'm fine with it." Hotch said, never more honest. "Are you?"

"I don't know." Emily admitted. "It'll be different for me. Innuendos, looks. I don't know if I am ready for that. It's one thing for JJ, Derek, and the others to know. They're family. But Strauss, and those two new agents—I'm not sure."

"I understand." He put his hands on her shoulders, turned her to face him. Casually dropped one more kiss on her wide mouth. "So we don't deny, but we don't bring it up."

"That'll work for me." Emily admitted. "But we don't advertise, either. And if this doesn't work—it's our business, no one else's."

"Emily—it will work." They moved into the elevator as they spoke. "I've every confidence."

"I wish I did." She admitted, before they exited the elevator into the lobby. The entire team was waiting, along with Strauss, Sidle, and Ramierez. Emily felt the awkwardness as she moved to greet both JJ and Garcia.

Hopefully the whole damned day wouldn't be as complicated as her morning had been.

Hotch nodded to Sidle and his man, before turning to Derek and Spencer. "Everyone ready?"

"Yes, sir." Morgan answered, eyes not having missed the signs written on both their faces. Hotch's lips were swollen, and the tiniest smudge of something, pink or red in color, rode the corner of the supervisor's mouth. "JJ has decided we're eating breakfast at IHOP."

"Sounds great." Emily said, smiling at her friend. She didn't miss the light of curiosity in either JJ or Garcia's eyes.

They were more than crammed in the booth, Emily plastered between SSA Sidle on one side and Hotch on the other. As she picked at her simple chocolate chip pancakes, she compared the two men. While both were definitely similar, with dark hair, dark eyes, tall, athletically lean builds, serious natures, and nearly identical styles of dress, it was Hotch Emily was hyper-aware of.

Of course, was it any wonder? She'd been more than plastered against him less than an hour earlier. She'd felt every inch of the front of her supervisor's body, and it had felt good.

He offered her a bite of his own breakfast, fluffy pancakes covered in a strawberry sauce and she thoughtlessly took it, not even looking at him as she passed him her plate, knowing he'd help her out with the large meal. He carefully slid half her pancakes on to his own plate, and they continued their conversations with Garcia and Derek, barely aware of their own actions.

But no one really missed it—especially the non-members of the team. To the others, it was just another sign of the changing dynamics between the two. To Ramierez, it didn't register as anything more than a curiosity, to Sidle, it was somewhat disappointing, but not surprising. He'd thought to ask the woman out once they'd returned to Washington, but now he had serious doubts she'd say yes.

Pity, he thought, because she was definitely a gorgeous and attractive woman. Who understood the profiling world. Those kind of women were more than a little hard to find, Scott knew. He'd only found one other in his lifetime, and she'd rightfully told him to take a hike well over a year ago.

Erin Strauss, uncomfortably pushed in the middle of the booth between Garcia and Reid also saw the unthinking action, and filed it away in her brain—she'd think about it later, after watching how they handled the case and the relationship between them. Make her decision then. Would it be best for the BAU to split the pair up? Best for them? Erin didn't know.

What she did know was that Hotchner's team was nearly phenomenal in the way they worked together, and now that she knew he didn't want her place in the unit, she had no qualms leaving him alone to fester for the rest of his career days. And if he wanted to share that festering with the woman under his command, should Erin really give a damn?

Finding someone special was hard enough without the added burden of chasing serial killers, and Erin just couldn't help but thinking that she should just leave the younger two alone. It was easy to see that they did suit each other well, and as long as it stayed out of the BAU, why should anyone care?

Why should she?

Emily was washing her hands in the bathroom sink when JJ and Garcia came in.

"Well." Garcia said, snickering softly. "Have you got some nerve."

"Lucy, you've got some 'splainin' to do." JJ added, moving in on Emily's other side. "So he kissed you."

It wasn't a question. No one assumed it was. "He kissed me. I kissed him, I think. The details are a little fuzzy."

"And?" Garcia asked, giddy. This was better than she could have imagined, way better than when Emily had been seeing Rossi's brother, Steven. "How was it?"

"Do you really need to know?" Emily asked, rhetorically.

"Come on." JJ urged, "Was it all methodical or was it a blitz?"

"You're likening a kiss to an attack by an UNSUB?" Emily asked, moving to dry her hands. "That's a bit disturbing, Jay. And well, like I said, the details are a little fuzzy."

"Fuzzy because of good, or fuzzy because they're not worth remembering?" Garcia demanded, blocking Emily's path to the door.

"Why do you need to know?"

"Come on, I told JJ about showering with Kevin."

"She also told me how Rossi interrupted." JJ snickered.

"What I didn't tell you was that when Kevin came out of the bathroom he only had one towel—and it was on his hair." Garcia said. "Come on, spill."

"Yeah. It's not like we've both not wondered." JJ admitted. "We've figured it out—Spencer'd probably be all awkward, but sweet. Derek—he'll be a swooper, you know, move in quick and skilled. Rossi—well, Dave's been married three times. The man has to have some sort of skills. But we couldn't decide on Hotch. But you've actual, practical experience."

"You've given this a lot of thought." Emily said, in a slightly amused tone. "Ok. Fuzzy good. Very good."

"Wow."

"Ohhh, I want details." Garcia clapped her hands, excitedly. "Who made the first move?"

"He did, I think. All I know is I ended up against the door, and I think my legs were around his waist. Are you two happy now?" Emily said quickly.

"Wow."

"This was the first kiss, right?" Garcia asked, "He didn't kiss you in Nortan Springs?"

"First real kiss." Emily answered.

"And it wasn't awkward, messy, or bumbling?" JJ asked. "Impressive."

"Tell me about it." Emily said, "Now can we go back out there, before they send search parties?"

"Spoiler sport!" Garcia said.

"Party pooper." JJ added. "I've got to go, you two wait for me!"

Strauss had left seconds after Emily, talking into her cell phone as she stepped outside the restaurant for a little privacy. So it was just Hotch and the male agents at the table when Garcia and JJ excused themselves to go to the restroom.

"See, they do that." Reid said, around the final bite of pancakes he'd filched from Emily's plate. The woman barely ate enough to keep alive in his opinion—even with Hotch eating half, there'd been plenty on the plate for Reid to steal.

"Do what, kid?" Morgan asked, finishing off his coffee.

"Go in packs. I don't get that. Do all girls do that?"

"Reid, haven't we discussed this before?" Hotch asked, mouth quirking. "Women always go in packs. I have yet to understand it, but JJ, Garcia, and Emily are no different."

"They all do it," Ramierez added, one of the first few times he'd contributed to the breakfast conversation. He was a very quiet man.

"But why?" Reid demanded.

"That's one of life's mysteries." Morgan said, having grown up with sisters. "My theory is they're afraid they'll miss an all important part of a conversation—so they take the conversation with them."

"So what is so important this morning that they have to go now?" Reid was honestly puzzled, and it showed on his face.

Hotch smiled at him, thinking of how the boy had changed in the last several years. He'd actually started to fill out some, both face and body losing the painfully thin awkwardness that he'd shown when he'd first joined the team. But some things, like the boy's lack of understanding when it came to women, would never change. "I'm sure it's nothing, Reid. Probably something they'd wanted to talk about last night and didn't get the chance."

"Sure it is." Morgan said, snickering at the other man's face. "That's why they rushed after Emily like a pack of marathoners."

"Something you're implying, Derek?" Hotch's brows rose, almost daring the younger man to comment. Hotch knew Derek felt slightly protective—maybe even a bit possessive—about Emily, and it wouldn't be unexpected for him to challenge Hotch's actions. Insist that he treat Emily right.

"Nothin', man, just that strawberry pink lip balm isn't really your thing—unless there's something you've forgotten to mention." Derek shrugged. It was gone now, but he hadn't missed the small streak of wax. "I don't think JJ or Garcia missed it, man."

"Is this because Hotch kissed Emily?" Reid asked, stupefied. "So? Why would they have to talk about that?"

"Is it that obvious?" Hotch asked, looking at the four men surrounding him.

"Hmm." Sidle said, touching one finger to his lips, tapping to illustrate a point. "Kind of hard to miss, Agent Hotchner."

"Well, if you wouldn't mind, Emily would prefer we not discuss it." Hotch's tone was rueful, and Derek—at least—caught the undertones. "She's still a bit unsure. Neither confirm nor deny. At least for now."

"Gotcha, man. But you know they're in there pulling every detail out of her." Morgan said. "Nothing will stay secret with Garcia on the trail."

"I know." Hotch nodded, as the three women rounded the corner. "I couldn't care less—but she does. Needs a little more time."

"Tough break, man." Derek commiserated, then hushed as the three women approached the table. Hotch stood, allowing Emily to slide in front of him, he trailed a hand along her shoulder without thought, just a simple gesture.

She smiled at him as he sat back down, crowding in closer, as Erin Strauss returned to the table. They had half an hour before they had to leave to meet Calvert at the field office.

Emily was more than doubly glad the Portland agent hadn't met them for breakfast—it would have been more than awkward with him there.

The rest of the breakfast finished quickly, plates being cleaned, coffee refilled. Emily laughed at Reid's look of disappointment when he realized both her pancakes and his own were gone. She leaned into Hotch some, and his arm had naturally found its way around her shoulders. His hand twisted in her dark hair, while his free one pulled her non-casted arm across his lap, under the table.

Was he even aware that he was constantly touching her? Emily didn't know. And she honestly didn't care. She'd made her decision, and wouldn't waver, no matter what the consequences. It just was.

And she was pretty sure she was fine with that.

Strauss had to leave, and Emily couldn't help but be relieved. August Parsons—Strauss's assistant—had been the one on the phone, recalling the unit chief to Washington.

No one was really sad to see her go, and Emily felt the greatest relief. As the older woman departed with a Portland agent as driver, Emily felt the weight falling off her shoulders—now she didn't have to worry about their every move being watched, cataloged, and evaluated.

Her smile was a bit brighter when she looked at Hotch. "I think I love August Parsons."

"Bit different from a week ago." Hotch commented as he followed her into the conference room where Agent Calvert and a few of his men waited.

"Ah, but look what he's done for us today." Emily snickered as she took her seat, greeting the Portland agent and his colleagues. Hotch settled into the chair beside her.

"So any new developments?" Hotch asked Calvert, as the rest of the team were seated. A palpable sense of relaxation covered the BAU, and Hotch knew it was because of the recent departure.

"We've determined the new bodies were buried approximately one week after the first ones." Calvert said, looking around the table. Avoiding the eyes of the dark-haired woman. She'd let him down gently after his breakfast invitation, but he still felt the awkwardness of it all. And he'd watched her as she and her team walked down the hall toward the glass-encased conference area. Saw the way she and her supervisor seemed to be continuously drawn together. So he'd drawn his own conclusions.

It made him feel a bit better, knowing that she hadn't lied the night before. She had told him she was sort of involved with someone—he just would never have expected it to be the extremely reserved SSAIC Hotchner.

Still, Hotchner was a good guy. And Calvert genuinely liked Agent Prentiss. He wished them luck—but he still felt the disappointment.

"And we've ID'd them." Calvert added, pulling the sheaf of papers from the file in front of him. "All three came from the greater Seattle area."

"So who mailed the pictures?" JJ asked, "And why?"

The pictures were of each of the women bound and gagged, in a small dark space. The light was low, visibility almost non-existent. Garcia had done the best she could, enhancing the shots, but they'd ultimately led nowhere.

"He's reaching out." Emily postulated, "None of the pictures are of these first six women, correct?"

"Right. Just those taken within the last four weeks." Calvert answered. "Is that important?"

"It shows that he was upset that he wasn't being recognized." Hotch said, "So he sent the pictures to the FBI. He could have chosen the Portland PD, but instead chose to send them to the FBI. And after last years' case with Stanley Howard, he might even have targeted you specifically."

"What did he think I could do for him?"

"Get him the attention he thinks he deserves." Morgan said. "But if the first set of women disappeared from the Portland area, and the next the Seattle, and the pictures were mailed from across state lines—he must have known that the FBI would take jurisdiction. So that tells us he's reasonably intelligent."

"Which will make him a little harder to catch." JJ said, eying the files spread around the table. "So what do we do now?"

"Someone needs to go to Seattle. Everyone else will re-interview each witness and family of the other six women." Hotch said. "Morgan, I want you and Reid to stay here. Sidle and Ramierez will accompany you. JJ and Garcia, you'll coordinate everything we find from this office. Emily and I will fly to Seattle today and be back tomorrow night. Calvert, this guy has targeted this office for a reason, I want you to stay with Morgan and Reid and assist in any way you can. And JJ—I want a press conference by five this afternoon. You and Calvert need to brief the city on what's happening."

"And give him the attention he wants?" Morgan asked. "What will that do?"

"Nothing for him. But if he's blitzing women, we need to warn his potential victims." Hotch said, as he stood. "Everyone, I'll want regular updates. We need to move quickly. If he sticks to pattern and keeps these women for at least two weeks, chances are good that he's got some victims right now, who are still alive. Garcia run all missing persons, both Portland area and Seattle. We need to identify whomever he might have."

"Yes, sir." Everyone said as they all stood to carry out Hotch's orders.

Emily wondered at his decision to take her to Seattle with him, wondered if it was a good idea. Wondered if he'd made the decision because of her talents as an agent or because he wanted her alone with him. Dammit, how was she supposed to reconcile her feelings for him with the need to do her job?

This was a bit more complicated than she thought it would be—already.

HOPE FIVE

Alan Cohen said:

It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful. There is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power.

Seattle was wet, crowded, and dingy. The suite JJ had booked for Hotch and Emily wasn't any better. Hotch unlocked the door before handing a key card to the silent woman at his elbow. "Here we are."

"Is it pathetic that getting to a hotel actually feels like I'm getting home? How many days have we spent in hotels this year?" Emily asked rhetorically, dropping her bag on foyer's couch. She didn't make a move toward either bedroom—she had no idea whether she was sleeping solo. Where she was sleeping. If she'd be doing much sleeping at all.

That thought tightened her stomach, filled her with a slightly scared excitement. She was most likely about to sleep with her boss.

Maybe. She hadn't really decided yet. They'd been in Seattle for nearly six hours, had interviewed two of the families of the victims, had liaised with the Seattle field office, gaining their full cooperation. All that was left for them to do was find dinner and unwind for the night. Sleep. Whatever else they found to keep themselves occupied before the morning.

It was that whatever that had her tied in knots. She was freaked to her toes, absolutely freaked, as she looked around the non-descript hotel suite. Two bedrooms branched off the small foyer, but Emily had a feeling that regardless of what they did in that bedroom, only one room would be used that night.

"What do you want to do for dinner?" Hotch asked, casually dropping his own bag beside hers. What he really wanted to do was say screw dinner, screw food. What he really wanted to do was scoop her up and disappear into one of those bedrooms—it didn't matter which one—throw her down on the bed and do exactly what he'd been dreaming about since that night in a chilly North Dakotan barn.

"Hmmm." Emily said, turning toward him, one hand placing an errant curl behind her ear. It was one of the few nervous habits she had and he smiled, knowing the cause of her awkwardness. "I'm not real sure."

Maybe he should just get it out of the way? But then again, he knew anticipation made the excitement so much more intense. He made sure the door was firmly closed and locked behind him, before stepping closer. "Emily."

She turned, looking at him fully, breath catching as he'd spoken. She knew what he was going to do, and she felt the warm curl of heat in her belly. Hotch was so methodical in everything he did, and kissing was no exception. She'd learned that in a Portland hotel room just a few short hours ago.

He ran a hand down the bare skin of her arm, fingers slightly roughened and hot, and grabbed her hand. He used it to pull her closer to him, then pulled her arm behind her, arching her lower body into his. His fingers manacled her wrist, his forearm locked to keep her in place. His other hand joined in to hold her still. To make her vulnerable, to him, and only him. She wasn't going anywhere.

Her eyes fluttered closed as his mouth brushed the soft skin of her neck, as his tongue darted out to taste her. The silk of her hair tickled his cheek, filled his lungs with the sweet scent of strawberries.

He had her hotter than she'd been in months, and his mouth hadn't even touched hers, yet. Emily didn't know if she could survive what would naturally come next. Even his kisses were intense, methodical, deliberate, controlled. Designed to achieve maximum results, to have her weak before him. She felt the trembling shaking her body, felt the heat in her stomach, felt the breath backed up in her lungs.

And his lips hadn't even touched hers yet. "Hotch."

"Yes?" He whispered, brushing her cheek with his lips. "Not too much, too soon, is it?"

"No." Her reply was a deep moan as he used his hands to pull her hips ever so tighter to his. She could feel him, feel the change that had overtaken his body.

She had that much effect on him?

Her eyes were closed, so she missed the predatory grin that touched his lips, missed the deep light of lust that illuminated his demon dark eyes. Missed the way that dark head swooped down, closing in on her slightly opened mouth with an intensity that shocked them both.

Then he was kissing her fully, and she thought of nothing else but the feel of his lips on hers, his body pressing into hers, his hand dropping to ride low on her hip.

The other hand released her wrist, freeing her arm to rise behind his head. The other hand, still in that damned air cast, slid around his waist, fisting in the blue cotton of the shirt he favored. She pulled him slightly to her, and then absolutely no space existed between them.

His hand fisted in her dark hair, pulling her head back slightly, arching her neck, exposing her. He dropped his mouth from her lips, running slightly wet kisses over her nape, nipping the delicate flesh of her earlobe. "Emily. God. Do you know how long I've been waiting to do this?"

"Mmmm," She ran her fingers through his short dark hair, body completely relaxed against him.

"Since North Dakota. And then that day, you in that damned red bikini, strawberry red, do you know I see that bikini every night? And every night it's me taking it off of you. Do you know you just dropped those shorts right in front of me? As if I wasn't even there, but I was. And I saw…saw exactly what I was missing. What I wanted to have, had to have."

She moaned at his words, thrilled knowing he'd noticed her in that ever-so-tiny bikini she'd worn at Garcia's insistence. She moaned again when his capable hands pulled her shirt from the band of her pants, gasped when she felt the heat of his hands against her skin.

Then the shirt was gone, him giving her no time to protest—if she'd even wanted to protest. Then she stood there in front of him in nothing but charcoal fatigues and a plain, serviceable black bra.

He stepped back, only a little, just enough to look at her, to take in the dark hair he'd mussed with his marauding fingers, to see the lust-softened eyes, the kiss-softened lips. To see the firm body, curved in all the right places, separated from him by two small black swatches of material.

He'd have that off of her soon enough. And there was plenty of time. He moved back in, hands moving under her arms just enough to lift her into him, to get her off balance, vulnerable, easily maneuverable. Maneuverable enough for him to back her against the wall, the way he'd fantasized each and every night.

He knew whatever happened between them wouldn't be all sweetness and light. Knew the darkness would be released like the demons of hell—if she'd let him. God, if she'd let him. He wanted hard, and fast, and furious, followed by slow, and controlled, and unending. He wanted it all.

But she wasn't going to be a mere spectator in this battle between them, and her clever hands made short work of his blue shirt, slipping each button one by hurried one, until she could push the cotton off his broad arms. Only a thin cotton undershirt separated her from his skin, and that just wasn't good enough for her.

If Emily was going to do this—she was going to do it right. The way she wanted. She mewled low in her throat, pulling the material of the undershirt out of his blue trousers, one hand running feverishly over the hard stomach she'd exposed, fingers ghosting through the tiniest bit of hair that covered his skin.

He pulled back, undershirt going the way of the floor, quickly followed by the black bra. It landed on his left foot and he kicked it away hurriedly. Then she was back in his arms, pressed against him, where he could feel the silk of her skin pressed against him fully for the first time. He ran his lips over her neck, dropping to the top of her shoulder. Bit her lightly, reveling in the shivers that chased through her. Ran his hand up her side, over her chest, squeezing lightly.

"God, Hotch, please!" Her words were a rasp against his ear as his hands dug into the muscles of her thighs and lifted her legs around his waist again. As he drove his hips into hers, letting her feel him fully for the first time.

This was nothing like the semi-sedate, somewhat innocent touches he'd favored her with in California. This was him acting on the promises he'd made over the last few weeks to burn her alive.

And God, was he doing it.

His left hand burned up her side, fisting in the hair at the back of her head, pulling her head back almost painfully, dropping to nip the skin of her neck, returning to sooth the injury before returning to nip her all the harder.

He wanted nothing more than to devour her, and he wanted to make that more than abundantly clear to her before they ever got close to the damned bedroom. "Em—are you sure you're ready for this?"

"Mmm." She pressed her lips to his, her non-casted hand drifting down his back, running over the supple skin. "Yes."

"Thank God." Hotch said, carrying her to the door leading to the bedroom. "Open the door."

She followed his command and it was mere seconds before he had her on the bed before him. He pushed her back, rougher than she'd expected, but it thrilled her, nonetheless. He was on one knee, between her thighs and his weight dipped the bed beneath him, them.

He kissed her again. She kissed him, both their mouths fighting for dominance, fighting to express all the words they'd not ever been able to say to one another. She tasted of chocolate and sweetness, he of strawberries and heat. His hands were at the button of her pants, sliding them open, sliding the zipper down. Sliding his hand beneath the dark material. Touching the soft silk material beneath.

He retreated, long enough to turn on the bedside light. He wanted to see her, watch her face when he did all the things he'd longed to do to her. She protested, hands reaching for him impatiently and he laughed. Actually laughed, a low, salacious sound that made her shiver. Aaron Hotchner had a wicked side, one that he didn't let free very often, and Emily felt she was about to experience it in every nuance of her being.

And she wanted that with a longing so deep it ached.

He stood looking down at her for only a moment, hand on the fastening to his own pants. She watched as they hit the ground, revealing his navy boxer-briefs. Revealing the shape of what the material covered. He stepped out of his shoes, pulled off his socks, moved to pull her boots off. He pulled her fatigues down so agonizingly slow, revealing her long legs, firm and toned, and the tiniest red panties. Red—like he'd fantasized about.

It took all his control not to leap on the bed, roll her beneath him, and just take all he'd ever wanted from her, right then, right there.

A lifetime of control served him well, in that instant. But barely.

Emily stared at him, dark eyes profiling the toned body, the ever so slight spattering of hair covering his chest. The strong, deceptively powerful arms that had lifted her so effortlessly. And she wasn't a diminutive woman, no she was tall and curvy, athletic. Hotch was one of those men who made his strength seem effortless, and Emily was ready for him to use that strength against her, with her. On her.

Soon, he was completely naked before her, his hand slipping the red panties from her body. Then his hands were everywhere and hers were just as mobile. They were caressing, stroking, kneading. Needing.

She forgot her inhibitions, he forgot his tight rein on his control, and they burned the sheets together.

Three a.m. was always the weakest point for Emily, and that night was no real exception. But this time, she lay awake contemplating the very recent changes in her life, and Aaron Hotchner's role in that life. Contemplated waking him up and them going in search of chocolate, chips, pretzels, anything—together.

She was starving and she put the blame right where it belonged—on those strong, and very much naked shoulders. God, how she was sore! Hotch hadn't been just satisfied with that first time; no, he'd let her rest before they'd begun all over again, this time slow and deliberate. The way she'd thought it would be with the coolly reserved man.

Man, had he surprised her. And damn, was she sore. And hungry. And…stuck. Hotch lay on his stomach, one arm draped over her middle, holding her tight. Whenever she tried to move the arm—without waking him—he protested, pulling tighter, pulling her closer to him. Snuggling her to him. In a sleep-roughened voice, he whispered. "Shhh, Em. It's ok."

"I know." She said, knowing he wasn't awake, if he was he'd be clear eyed and staring down at her—like he had in California. She smiled at him, reveling in seeing him so vulnerable. Talking in his sleep. Holding her like a child would a teddy bear.

Seeing him so completely naked. For a man around fourty, Hotch was built. She'd always liked the tall, lean type. Strong, deceptively so. That was Hotch. "Hotch. Hotch!"

"Hmm." He moved, finally, pulling his arm off her chest. "Emily?"

"Hey." She smiled softly, suddenly nervous. They'd fallen asleep with the light on, too exhausted to care, and now she wished she'd taken the time to flip the switch.

The light always made secrets more visible, made faults more clear. Made awkwardness…more awkward.

"You ok?" He asked, running one analytical eye over her, even though the cream-hued comforter covered her body from his eyes. "I didn't get too rough, did I?"

"No." Emily actually felt the heat touch her cheeks as she remembered how rough it was, and how much she'd enjoyed it. "You weren't too rough."

"So why are you awake? Nightmares?" He rolled over to his side, completely lacking self-consciousness about his nakedness. They were both finally where he wanted them, and clothes were not part of his equation. As he looked at her, he decided blankets weren't part of the equation either—unless they were both completely under them. "You ok?"

"No. I'm hungry." Emily said, emphatically, while wondering just what exactly one was supposed to say after completely mind-numbing sex with one's supervisor. Three times. No—four. No wonder she was sore. Her supervisor wasn't exactly a gentle lover. "Desperately need food."

"Really?" Hotch laughed, moving to pull her back down to the pillows. "Wonder if there's any place that delivers at three a.m."

"Vending machines will be fine." Emily told him, primly, willing to let herself be distracted by him. "In a little bit."

He leaned down and kissed her softly, gently sucking her bottom lip into his mouth. "This is better than a three a.m. movie, isn't it?"

"Much." Emily agreed, hands looping behind his neck to pull him closer. "And I love re-runs, sir."

"Yes, ma'am, SSA Prentiss."

She had a smudge of chocolate on her lips, Hotch thought, as he lie there beside her watching her sleep. After they'd rolled around a bit, she'd ordered him to get dressed. Insisted she wanted pretzels and Reese's.

Who was he to argue?

They'd devoured their vending machine finds, the fact that they'd missed dinner and their recent physical activities had made them both more than ravenous.

And then she'd fallen into an exhausted sleep beside him, dressed in that red tank top and short gym shorts—just like she had in California. Except this time he didn't have to lie there wondering what was under those clothes. He'd seen it, touched it, tasted it—claimed it.

And the caveman in him was finally satisfied—for the time being.

And it had been beyond his imaginings. Had it ever been that way with him and Hayley? He didn't think so. He'd never lost control like that with his ex. Never, she never would have allowed it.

But Emily seemed to demand it. Wanted it. Needed it. And he was more than ready to provide her with exactly what she needed, whenever.

But he didn't think he'd be able to do another five'a' nighter. If he admitted it to himself, he was probably too old to have done what he'd done tonight—especially so many times. But any soreness, stiffness of old muscles, he experienced was more than worth it to have her with him. He didn't care if he limped around Seattle all day today, he'd know what happened between them, and would revel in it.

They still had a few hours before the seven a.m. alarm, but he couldn't sleep—no matter how physically exhausted his body was. He couldn't stop replaying every glorious moment of the past few hours, and his body was beginning to stir.

But he was letting her sleep, so he ignored the urgings of his body, turning on his side to see her more fully. They still hadn't turned out the light, so she was completely revealed to him. Her face was soft, relaxed in sleep, with the new bangs tickling her forehead. He liked them, it softened the angles of her face a little, made her appear less cool and collected, made her look a bit more approachable—and almost sweet. Especially when asleep. Her mouth was slightly parted, swollen from his kisses. His kisses. And that thrilled him, down to the deepest, most primitive part of him. A tiny bruise had formed on her shoulder, where he'd bitten her, but he didn't feel any remorse for his actions. He liked that he'd marked her, made it clear to all that she was his.

Aaron Hotchner was a caveman, when it came down to it. And the civilized suits and neatly tied ties really couldn't hide it—if one looked just close enough.

He used to hate that part of himself. The angry part, the instinctive part that he'd learned to control so long ago. A part of him still did. But he couldn't find it in himself to care tonight.

She hadn't been frightened off. If anything, she'd burned hotter the rougher he'd gotten. It was like the profiler in her had understood exactly what he'd needed, wanted, craved. Like she had read him clean through.

He wasn't too sure how he thought about that, now, but when it was happening he'd been awestruck. Had he ever given any other person that much power to see inside him?

Had anyone ever just seen, regardless?

Hayley certainly hadn't. Gideon might have, but it wasn't something they'd ever discussed. Dave certainly seemed to read him a little. And they were the only people he'd ever felt close enough to open up to. But with Emily, it was as if he didn't need to consciously open up. As if she just knew.

Was it the profiler in her, or just that she was uniquely tuned in to him?

He wasn't sure what he hoped for, but he knew that he couldn't wait to find out. In the meantime, he'd just wait and see what happened between them from here. He rolled back onto his back as she flipped over, beginning the habitual squirming that signaled she was dreaming. He pulled her closer, whispering reassurances until she settled, against his chest, one hand draped around his neck, his shoulder, her knee rising to cover his thigh.

This time he could run a hand all over her body, pull her as tightly to him as he wanted. No rules of propriety could stop him now, so he took advantage of it, aligning her just where he wanted her, until he could feel her all around him, felt his body tightening even more. He didn't move to act on those urges, just laid there enjoying having the right to lay there.

Hotch had gotten what he wanted from Emily Prentiss, and he was damned sure he'd get it again, and again, and again. And now that he'd had her—there was no one who could stop him from getting even more from her.

But he'd have to go slow. Not rush her, not endanger their careers, their reputations. But when all was said and done—he was going to have it all.

Emily was so damned sore she didn't think she could move. That was her first thought upon waking. The second was that there was no way she was getting out of that bed. No way. At that point, she didn't care if there were a hundred serial killers outside her door—she was too damned sore, in places too damned unmentionable, to even think about moving.

And it was all his fault. The animal. She felt a smile touch her lips as she remembered exactly what that animal had done to her, with her, for her.

Ok, so maybe she liked the animal in him. But that didn't mean she wasn't sore.

Wow. She rolled on her back, looking toward the bedroom door, which he'd left open. Heard the shower running, knew exactly where her boss, and now her lover, was.

How was she going to make it through the entire day?

It would kill her. No doubts about it. And he'd have to explain the why, the cause of death, to an entire team of profilers. She could picture it in her head. Morgan's quirked eyebrows, JJ's mouth forming her favorite wow expression, Reid completely flabbergasted, and Garcia—Garcia would be snickering in the background, her voice filling everyone's earwics.

She giggled softly, as the man in question wandered back in, dressed in underwear and an undershirt, towel-drying that black hair of his. "Hey."

She laughed again, seeing the way he moved. Maybe she wasn't the only one who was sore.

"You find something funny, SSA Prentiss?" His dimples flashed, a rare occurrence that had gotten a little less rare in the last few weeks. "Care to share with the rest of the…team?"

"Yes, sir. SSAIC Hotchner. All my profiling skills are leading me to believe you had a very rough night."

"You might say that." Hotch's lips twitched as he sank down on the bed beside the giggling woman. "I hurt in places that simply don't exist."

"I've decided I am staying in this bed until I can walk to the bathroom without groaning." Emily declared. "You'll just have to fly back to Portland without me, seeing as how you can walk. And—you get to explain it to the rest of the team why I am suddenly stuck in bed."

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" His voice was concerned, his dark eyes inscrutable. "Wasn't too rough?"

"No. Not at all." She said, sensing his question went a bit deeper than he wanted her to know. "It was wonderful, Hotch. I am sore but I think it was from doing it five times in such a short span of time. Wow."

"Yes." He said, leaning in to kiss her. "I agree with that—wow."

***

HOPE SIX

What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise.-Oscar Wilde

Twenty-six hours after Calvert and JJ aired the news conference, the tip line resounded with one name. Gerald Moore was a local carpenter and builder who liked to hike in the area surrounding the dumping sites. Three callers had pointed in his direction for three different reasons. The first caller knew Gerald Moore and had seen him in the general vicinity where Melinda Carmichael disappeared. The second caller remembered selling the building materials to a former classmate who drove a late nineties Dodge Ram, dark in color. He'd helped Moore load the vehicle, and had seen a mud-covered shovel in the truck's bed. His call was a shot in the dark.

But it was the second time Moore's name had come up through the tip line. The final nail in Moore's coffin came from a forest service agent who'd retired two weeks earlier. He'd remembered citing Moore's vehicle for parking in a restricted zone less than two hundred feet from the first dumping site the same week the forest service agent had retired. Moore had been belligerent, nervous, agitated enough that the agent had made a note of the man's name and plate number.

JJ took the call from the forest service agent personally. She'd also taken the call from the lumber supplier. It was a simple as that coincidental fact that led her to putting them together.

Within two hours Garcia had everything there was to know about Gerald P. Moore. Enough for them to strongly suspect he was the UNSUB. All that was left to do was find him.

Morgan and Prentiss went to Moore's house, along with Sidle and Calvert.

"Does it ever creep you out?" Emily asked. "Going through their houses? I mean, I know it bothers Garcia to go through their records. But we...we are supposed to get a feel for these monsters by checking their everyday life."

"And you're wondering what profile could be developed from your condo." Morgan said. "That's understandable."

"Is it?" Emily asked, as Sidle and Calvert searched the backyard. "So what would profilers learn about the great ladies man, Derek Morgan?"

"They'd learn that I'm smart enough to hide the things I wouldn't want people to see. Even if it's as simple as putting my dirty underwear in the hamper." He stepped over a strewn-out pile of dirty laundry with a look of disgust on his face.

Emily pulled a pair of latex gloves from her pocket. She wasn't touching anything in Moore's house without some sort of protection. The man lived like a slob. "And what does Derek Morgan feel needs hiding?"

"Nothing this extreme." He held up a stack of magazines, magazines of the ilk that turned Emily's stomach on behalf of every woman. "He has BDSM magazines, and tapes. But I don't see any signs of the tools."

"This isn't is workshop." Emily said, referring to the area where the UNSUB would do his perverse torture of his victims. "How large is this property?"

"About six acres. Moore inherited it from a great aunt. She'd raised him since the age of nine. His parents left him with her and never came back."

"What do we know about his childhood?" Prentiss paused in front of a wall full of photos. A solemn boy stared back at her from most.

"She was older, maybe sixty when he came to her. Upstanding member of the Carlsbad Presbyterian. He was fed, clothed, etc. Garcia is working on more."

"Are you saying that something that happened to Moore as a child led to him killing twelve women?" Calvert asked from the hallway.

"Probably not something, but rather a collection or series of somethings." Emily said. "Parental abandonment, an elderly relative with prominent control of him, combined with what ever psychological factors he already possessed. It all could have combined to form our UNSUB."

Calvert still looked skeptical. "Still seems like nothing but an excuse to me."

"Never that. All these factors can be present, in any manner of people. Add in the personal choice to commit these acts, and that's what creates our UNSUB." Emily added. "I don't think we're going to find much more here."

"I'm with you." Morgan said. "This isn't where he does his thing. We need to find that before we can find the answers."

"I'll call Hotch." Emily flipped open her phone.

They were business as usual, despite the hot and heated acts of Seattle. She wouldn't have it any other way. Yes, they'd slept together—although sleep had had little to do with it—but when it came down to the nitty gritty, they were on the West Coat to stop a serial killer. Emily couldn't forget that. Wouldn't forget that. She knew Hotch felt the same way.

They'd discussed it, on the flight back from Washington. Had come to two agreements. One, they'd take things slowly, privately, and calmly between them, trying to make as little waves for the team as possible. Two, they'd always remember that when on cases their primary objective was to solve the cases.

They were two mature professionals, and Emily didn't think they'd have a problem with either part.

Still, Morgan had been eying her funny all day. It was starting to get irritating. He waited until they were back in the SUV they were sharing before finally asking one of the questions she'd been dreading.

"You slept with Hotch, didn't you?"

"Not really any of your business, Morgan." Her voice was a strangled mix of embarrassment and irritation.

"Probably not." Morgan shrugged. "But does that really matter? What matters is the lack of tension in the two of you. I wanted to let you know that this is a good thing. I've already told him that."

"Gee. Thanks, Morgan." Emily knew there was some red staining her cheeks. "You're approval means all the world to me."

"So you did sleep with Hotch." Morgan practically crowed as Emily realized that she'd confirmed his suspicions.

"Morgan, we are not in junior high."

"No. But if Teacher Strauss finds out you've been kissin' Hotch under the bleachers, you are so seriously gonna end up in detention. And Hotch could get expelled." Morgan's words were only half joking. "I just wanted to let you know that I've got your back. Yours and Hotch's."

"Don't you always?" She really did love Morgan. He had such a strong sense of loyalty. It was one of his most admirable characteristics. "Thanks, Derek."

"Anytime." He grinned once. "The positioning of the bodies, that's bothering me a little."

"Yes. Me, too." Emily frowned, then set silent as Morgan maneuvered the SUV through the streets. "It's almost as if he's nestling children into those graves."

"Exactly. As if he's tucking them in together so they don't get lonely or anything."

Emily pulled out her phone. Hit speed dial. "Hey Garcia. You are on speaker."

"Ok. I'm here with the hottest Hotch on the planet. What can we—he—do you for?"

Emily mentally groaned while Morgan snickered.

"Baby girl, was Gerald Moore an only child?" Morgan fought to keep back a smile. Emily fought the urge to smack him.

"Nothing officially listed. Hang on a second, let me check the great-aunt's tax returns." A few minutes passed. "No. As far as all records indicate, Gerald Moore was the only of an only. The great-aunt was his only living relative until two months ago."

"Possible stresser?" Emily asked. "Fits the timeline."

"Doesn't explain the almost parental method of remorse shown." Morgan said, then quickly explained their line of reasoning to Hotch via the phone. "Hotch, man. We postulated that the UNSUB would be in a relationship, a stable one. Yet there was no indication of a woman in his home. I don't think we were that far off. Garcia, can you find me anything on Moore's personal history?"

"Give me fifteen minutes, Garcia over and out."

She rang back fourteen minutes later, just as Morgan was guiding the SUV into the station's parking garage.. "Gerald Moore was married to a woman who had two children from a previous marriage. From all accounts they were a relatively happy and stable couple."

"We're in the parking lot, we'll be there shortly." Morgan said, killing the engine. Two minutes later they were crowded around Garcia's computer screen.

"What happened?" Emily asked, leaning into Hotch's shoulder almost unconsciously.

"That's just it. Nobody seems to know. Last known address for Sara Moore was twenty minutes outside of Boise Idaho. Two months ago. Then from all accounts, the Moore family packed up and moved, supposedly to Indiana. But Indiana shows no records or Sara or her two children. Two months ago, Gerald Moore shows up here, with no sign of Sara or the children." Garcia said.

"Three people don't just disappear." Morgan said.

"Do you think Gerald Moore made them disappear?" Emily asked. "

"His first victims?" Hotch frowned. Reid wrote on the whiteboard near the other side of the room. He listed Sara and her children's names, along with question marks. "It would explain the use of the three per grave."

"So, what...he kills his wife and her children, does something with the bodies—probably burying in the woods somewhere in Idaho. Returns to the scene for a while. His great-grandmother dies, leaving him truly alone. So he reacts by reenacting the murders of Sara and the children? What about the sexual sadism?" Emily paced around the room, mind focused on working out the p0ssibilities. "Garcia, was there any hint of abuse in Sara and the children's records?"

"Not that I saw. Had the average number of trips to the ER per child. Nothing that said abuse. Mostly ear infections and the like."

"Still, if it was going on, it doesn't necessarily mean it was reported." Hotch said. "The rest of the pieces, we'll have to get from Moore. Garcia, I want you to stay on Sara Moore. See if you can find something to tell us where she is. Alive or dead."

"Gotcha, head G-man."

"Moore does part time work for Gladdis Construction. Morgan, Calvert, Prentiss and I will check with them. See where he's at today. I want to get him off the streets as quickly as possible. We'll work on tracking any other victims after that." Hotch held Emily's suit coat for her to slip it on over the air cast. He did it without thinking, and she barely registered the gesture.

No one else blinked either. Emily had to wonder if their entire relationship would be like that. Would it make so little of a wave in the team? Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Or was it simply because the team were their friends and respected her and Hotch's right to privacy?

She shook her head minutely, determined to not let those type of thoughts dominate. Morgan had told her it was a good thing. And Penelope had long been urging Emily to jump Hotch. A team of profilers couldn't all be wrong. Her and Hotch, maybe they were a good thing. It would just take her a while to get used to it. Self-doubts were normal, she knew that.

She looked up at him for a moment as they waited in the elevator. He caught her gaze and smiled. The barest hints of his dimples showed. She fought the urge to smile back. Whatever the final outcome of their relationship, she was glad they'd at least taken the next step.

Only time would tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing. And she knew it would be whatever she and Hotch made it. And hadn't they both proved that when something mattered to them, they'd fight heaven and earth to get the desired results?

It would be a good thing. She just knew it.

EMILY*HOTCH*EMILY*HOTCH

Hotch resisted the urge to keep Emily behind him as they began the actions that would lead to apprehending the UNSUB. Gerald Moore had reported to work at his customary time of 8:15 am. He'd never missed a day since taking the job two months earlier; he'd also never been late or had any disciplinary issues. He was the model employee.

From all accounts, everyone on the construction team got along well with him although many referred to him as a bit of a braggart and aloof. Nothing the BAU hadn't predicted. His truck was clean and neat, and ran in perfect condition. Hotch ordered two agents to watch the vehicle—which was parked on the south side of the construction lot. On the off chance, they missed Moore he wanted the bases covered.

Hotch was the first to spot Moore among the two dozen workers on the main level of what was to be a three story structure. "Prentiss and Reid, take the far left side. Cut off all access to any form of heavy machinery. Calvert, take two of your agents in the mid-left area. Ramierez take the right, Sidle, the far right. And the rest of you, surround the back. The man we are looking for is the one in the red checked shirt. Morgan, you and I will take point."

Moore didn't resist. He saw the dozen or so agents headed toward him and he surrendered peacefully. It wasn't what Hotch had expected, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He was ready for this case to be over, and for him and Emily to be working on some of the finer details of their relationship. Like where he would be sleeping that night, and hopefully for many nights to come.

Two hours later, Gerald Moore was cuffed to the interrogation table, and Hotch was beginning the interview. Emily watched from the two-way mirror as the team leader led the man skillfully through the entire pattern.

He broke Moore in twenty minutes, and had the entire story pouring out. The man had killed his wife, just as the BAU had suspected, then the children. Moore couldn't even articulate the why behind his actions. He'd just snapped, killing his entire family. Agents had been sent to Boise to confirm the location of Sara and the children's bodies. He'd reenacted the crime of killing Sara with each woman he'd taken, adding and embellishing more sadistic acts each time. He'd nestled her and her children together in one grave because he'd not wanted Sara to worry about the children. Moore had a hard time even admitting the children were dead. Hotch was careful not to lead him into confessing falsely, but the man eventually provided enough believable details that Hotch was satisfied he'd gotten to the truth.

It was, unfortunately, nothing the BAU hadn't seen before. Still, it was not something they would forget. It was just one more monster off the streets.

HOTCH*EMILY*HOTCH*EMILY

Emily was quiet on the flight back to DC. Hotch sat at her side, their knees touching. Just like they'd done probably a thousand times before. This time it was different, and they both knew it. Hell, the entire team knew it.

Hotch bumped her beneath the table, then dropped his hand to cover her knee. She looked up at him, eyes dark and soft. He tilted his head in her direction slightly. "You ok?"

"Just tired." She fought a yawn as she spoke. "And thinking."

He lowered his voice even more. "About...us?"

"No." She shook her head, sending strawberry-scented hair brushing against him.

"Then?"

"He couldn't even explain his actions." She stared at the clouds out her window. "How can we?"

"We can't explain every action; human will dictates that. For all accounts, Gerald Moore had a somewhat normal, if not typical, childhood. His great aunt treated him well, that was evident by the way he spoke of her. He had no other indications of a murderous tendency."

"That's what bothers me the most, I think. He went from being so ordinary, so normal, to being a killer responsible for the deaths of fifteen people. If we can't determine the why behind that, how can we determine the why behind any human action?" He loved the way her mind worked, how she circled around things in her thought process. It was just as complex as Reid's just in a slightly different way.

"I don't think we can. Gerald Moore made the decision to do what he did every time he grabbed a new victim. The decision to harm and kill was made time and time again. He could have chose to stop. He just didn't. It's that way with every human behavior. In any situation, we can only hope that each choice is the right one." Hotch wrapped an arm around her as unobtrusively as possible. Not that it mattered, the entire team was deep in their own pursuits. Reid was studying some obscure reports, Morgan was listening to music, and JJ was reading. Sidle and his partner were playing magnetic chess of all things.

"And our choice will be the right one, for you, me, Jack, the team?" She asked. If he hadn't known her so well he would have automatically assumed she was having doubts. But he knew the truth.

"I'm sure in my decision, Emily. No backing out now."

They spoke little for the rest of the flight. It was a long one and they were tired. She slept on his shoulder, both their chairs leaned back for added comfort. It was nice to be able to share human closeness with someone again. He was ever glad it was with her. Hotch thought back to the last several weeks, since that cold morning he'd woken to find his subordinate curled on his chest as the team lay sound asleep on a pile of hay, thought back over the changes that his life had taken. Changes he'd made the choice to let happen. Changes shared with Emily Prentiss. There was one major difference in his life and he would gladly admit it—Aaron Hotchner had regained one of the most important things a person needed to survive: hope.

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