Chapter Eleven

Some of the dialogue of this chapter is taken directly from episode 02x14, 'The Big Game'.

Team nights out, it turned out, were quite a regular occurrence. And not only to their little Irish bar. The final night in any city, once a case was solved, they'd find themselves out, drinking, celebrating. It was, in many ways, necessary, after a long case, after being so tightly wound. Though Hotch carried the burden of being team leader, they all felt the pressure of solving a case, they all saw the expectation in people's eyes, especially when someones life was on the pine. It was, however, a rare occasion that Hotch joined them, too busy with paperwork and case files, another reminder of the extra burdens he protected the rest of them from. Gideon, too, remained absent from those evenings, althought nobody saw fit to complain about that; unlike Hotch, nobody missed his presence.

Emily refrained from asking where he was most of the time. She didn't want to peak any interest with her questions. The first time, when she arrived at the bar with JJ and found only Morgan and Reid waiting for them, along with a couple of the detectives they'd met while working the case, she brought it up to JJ.

The blonde had shrugged, as though it were no matter. "Sometimes he comes, sometimes he doesn't, I guess." And that was it. Much as she wanted to push, Emily had sensed that it wasn't wise, had seen the curiosity on JJ's face that night at her mothers party, so she placed a polite, indifferent smile on her face, returning her nonchalant shrug.

But whenever they were in DC, whenever they found themselves at a bar, at their bar, Emily never went home alone. After that second night, there seemed to be no point in denying the attraction they each felt towards each other. Every touch was electric, every moment they spent alone crackled with it, and those nights they spent, sprawled, naked, tangled up in each other in Emily's bed, those were the only moments they spent alone. It took Emily a few cases to notice, but Hotch never made her work with him, never set himself up to work with her. If the other's noticed, they made no comment, but Emily found herself expecting to be assigned to work with Morgan or Reid, and she didn't mind. The last thing she needed, or wanted, to be, was distracted while working a case. But on their infrequent nights off, distracted was all she wanted to be, and Hotch was only too happy to oblige.

Weeks went by and Emily grew used to the ache he left between her legs, to waking up in sheets that smelled like him.

Occasionally, she caught sight of herself, caught her own eyes in the mirror when she dressed or brushed her teeth, saw the glow beneath her skin. What are you doing? She never had the answer, and she didn't look for too long. Emily had run through every outcome, and there was no way she saw this ending well. She knew Hotch was risking much more than she was, involving himself with a subordinate, but, as far as she knew, Hotch didn't have a superior breathing down his neck for dirt on her.

Strauss had left her alone; at least, there had been no direct communication between them since the party. Each time she came onto the unit, however, Emily stiffened, tracking the woman's movement with her eyes, watching as she went into Hotch's office, waiting for her to leave. Each time, as Strauss passed Emily's desk, she made sure to meet her eyes, a silent but certain reminder; their agreement still stood. Emily had a debt, and Strauss expected payment.

Nathan Harris, Buford, Frank Breitkopf. They all passed, and Strauss didn't come to her, but at no point did Emily believe the woman had let her off the hook.

Still, Strauss or no Strauss, she still took him willingly, eagerly, to her bed.

Superbowl Sunday rolled around and that cold February night found the team at their bar. They'd claimed the table that Emily had learned they thought of as theirs, although JJ had been pulled into a game of darts by some trainees from the Academy and Reid had slunk off to sit with some other friends he'd spotted when they walked in. Emily had passed him earlier on the way to the bathroom and, ruffling his hair as she passed, heard some sort of nerdy drinking game going on, even though the glass in front of Reid held a very innocent orange juice.

On her way back to the table, she stopped at the bar to get fresh drinks. Catching JJ's eye across the bar, she raised a questioning eyebrow and received a thumbs up from the blond, which she translated into please get me a drink. So she did, and, while she was waiting, a man sidled up beside her.

She took no notice of him at first, but he kept casting sidewayz glances at her. Emily subtly studied his reflection in the mirror behind the shelves of drink behind the bar and he was, she supposed, conventionally attractive. Floppy brown hair that looked better taken care of than her own, equally warm brown eyes, just the right amount of stubble to look rugged yet clean. The fourth time he looked at her, then looked away again, Emily turned her head, and waited, one eyebrow raised. Now, aware of her gaze, he smiled, lips curling in a playful smirk, as he took a drink. Then, he turned the full force of that smirk on her.

"Can I help you?" Emily asked, with half a laugh. She couldn't help it, so endearing was his smirk.

"I was just working up the courage to ask if I could buy you a drink."

"Oh, thanks," Emily said, genuinely, "but I'm here with friends."

"So?" He asked, with a raised eyebrow, and Emily opened her mouth to respond, to explain, to give her reasoning, and found herself lacking. So?

She glanced back at their table, to where Hotch was sitting with Penelope. Her handsome stranger followed her gaze, his eyes finding Hotch.

"You're taken," He nodded, holding up his hands as if in apology, "That's my bad, I'm sorry."

"No-" Emily began to protest. It's not like that, she wanted to say, but she hesitated. He waited a moment, as though waiting for her to gather her thoughts, and gave her a gentle smile.

"It's cool, I didn't mean to overstep." He picked up his glass, standing to leave, to return, she assumed, to his own group of friends. "Enjoy the game."

The Emily of four months ago would have called him back, wouldn't have let him go in the first place. But she did. She watched his leather jacket disappear into the crowd, feeling more than a little bit confused by her own reaction, and turned back to the bar as their full glasses were placed in front of her. As she turned, a flushed blonde appeared at her side.

"Who was that?" JJ asked, and Emily opened her mouth to answer, but JJ shook her head. "Later." She pressed her lips together, raising her eyebrows, and Emily's shoulders slumped in a sign.

"We've got a case."

The music of the bar was still ringing in their ears as they sat themselves down at the round table. Indeed, Emily could still feel the buzz of the alcohol she had consumed, and she wondered at the seriousness of the case, if there was no other team who could take it. She put her head in her hands, rubbing at her eyes, the lights of the conference room feeling far too bright after the dimness of the bar, and the darkness of the hour outside.

"Here." A large mug, steaming, brimming with rich, strong coffee, was placed in front of her by a large, strong hand. Emily wrapped her hands around the warmth of the mug immediately, eyes following that arm up until they alighted on Hotch's. She gave him a small, grateful smile that he didn't return, he just gave her an affirming nod.

"You know," Morgan said, unhappily, as he made his own coffee, "It never fails. Just as I'm getting my groove thing going, bam. We're back at the BAU."

Spencer, who was sober and therefore as chipper as he ever was, piped up at that; "You know, statistically a case doesn't come in with any more frequency if you're at a party or a gathering and if you aren't. It's a trick of the mind. We merely remember the ones that came in that way more."

Emily grinned at the dirty look that Morgan cast Reid, shaking her shoulders, teasingly, as she quipped, "Besides, is it really that hard for you to get your groove thang going again?"

It was then that Gideon arrived, and after a short exchange, during which Emily heard Hotch tell Gideon he'd missed a good time at the bar, JJ stormed in, hair flaring out beind her as she walked with purpose that told them nothing good awaited them on this case.

"Well, that's over." She told them, in reference to their good time, and she wasn't wrong.

They were a married couple, The Kyle's. And they were very dead. Murdered in their own home on Superbowl Sunday, a mere hour before they'd gotten the case. None of them needed to voice how rare it was that they could be on the scene so quickly.

"Also," JJ was saying, "when they arrived, the police found this displayed prominently on the bed."

Emily recognised it immediately, the religious words unfolding in her mind even before she could finish reading what JJ displayed to them. Hotch, too, recognised the scripture.

"Revelations chapter 6, verse 8."

"They're killing sinners." Morgan clarified, voicing the thought even as it passed through each of their minds. Emily thought she saw Hotch glance at her, but when she looked his way, his eyes were on the screen.

The flight to Atlanta was barely an hour, and they all continued to pound coffee, as the early morning sun seemed to chase the jet across the horizon. JJ sat across from Emily, Morgan beside her. Hotch took the seat beside JJ, and Emily didn't think anything of it until JJ asked, "So who was the guy in the bar?"

Years of profiling, and of protecting himself from being profiled, were the only thing that stopped Hotch's neck from snapping around to stare at her, at JJ's words. Although he refrained, although he managed to look only the slightest bit interested, his expression echoing the one on Morgan's face, the one that was intrigued but didn't really care, Emily saw the tension in his neck.

"I've no idea," She told the blonde, truthfully. "He just came up to me and offered to buy my drink."

"Of course he did, you're gorgeous," JJ rolled her eyes, as though it were obvious, and Emily shook her head, rolling her own eyes at the compliment. "So, did he?"

"Did he what?" Emily asked, confused and all too aware of Hotch's eyes on her.

"Buy your drink."

"Oh," Emily shook her head, "No, I told him not to."

"Now why would you do that?" Morgan cut in, "You're a beautiful, single lady in a bar; if you don't let the man buy you the drink, then you miss out on the free drink and the poor guy is nursing a bruised ego all night long."

"Oh, boohoo," JJ shook her head at him, incredulously, "Even if I do agree that you should have taken the drink; you're single and he was cute."

She was saved from replying by Morgan, and grateful for it, as she could have sworn she saw a muscle jump in Hotch's jaw.

"Hey, now, it takes a lot of guts to approach beautiful women such as yourselves." Morgan defended his fellow man with gusto, JJ's eyebrows were raised.

"So, we're obligated to accept drinks from every creep who offers us one?" She asked, and Emily was content to let them hash out their discussion, glad the attention was off her.

She glanced at Hotch, who, in the midst of JJ and Morgan's argument, had gone back to reading whatever it was he was reading. His interest, his lack of interest, Emily couldn't put her finger on what, but something about his response has bothered her. Or perhaps it was the fact that she cared about his respose at all that bothered her. This thing between them, what they were doing, it was casual. Incredibly so. It had to be, and it had to remain casual, for a hundred reasons, and for both of their sakes. Still, Emily wished JJ hadn't brought up

He sent Emily to the coroners, and felt guilty for it, because he did it so he wouldn't have to look at her for a while.

Last night, at the bar, he knew, just by looking at her, that they were in agreement over where the night would take them. As was becoming their habit, he had expected to wake up this morning entangled in her Egyptian cotton sheets, her lithe, naked body wrapped around him. Alas, it wasn't the first time their job had gotten in the way of somebody's plans, and it definitely wouldn't be the last.

"I pulled everything that we have unsolved from the last two years." The cop, Hotch hadn't caught his name, was saying. Usually, they were supplied with the case files to inspect themselves, but he held no boxes, only stood with his hands on his hips and an expression Hotch had seen many times before. It questioned why the FBI needed to be called in, it reeked of mistrust and distaste. "There's nothing even close to the M.O."

"No murders involving a knife?" Hotch pushed, in disbelief. There was always knife crime.

"We have a lot of open cases involving knives, but they're in common type crimes, bar fights, robberies." He was defensive, fronting, as though to assert dominance. Hotch, much as he might have wanted to take the cop down a peg or two, had neither the patience nor the incentive to do so. JJ glanced at him, her eyes half rolling.

"Well, this isn't their first contact. One of them has experience." Hotch gave her her opening, turning back to their evidence board as the blonde stepped closer to the cop.

She glanced over her shoulder, demurely, as though to check whether Hotch was still listening. "Is it okay if I go through some of your case files?" He looked unconvinced, so JJ gave him a little smile and a dainty shrug. "Fresh eyes."

"There's nothing there." The cop said, and Hotch thought he really meant it, but JJ wasn't about to let it go.

She dropped her voice to a pleasing, lower volume, as though they shared something secretive. "Help me out, ok? These guys, they're not gonna let me do anything else, and I flew all the way here, so..."

The flirtation, though Hotch knew JJ found it more than a little grating, was an age old trick. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last time, that he observed the blonde use her assets to get what she wanted out of the cops they worked with. With a pang in his stomach, Hotch suddenly envisioned Emily in the same position. He hadn't yet seen it, but he was sure that she, too, had employed such tactics in the past to get around the natural mistrust that local PD held for their ilk. The thought made his ears pound, but he shoved it away.

"I'll show you the file room." JJ glanced back at him, as the cop led her from the room, and Hotch gave her a nod. Good job. But, his fists curled as he watched her leave, and imagined Emily in her place.

Hotch told Emily to go where the bodies are, so she did, and she didn't know if he was punishing her for the guy in the bar, or if he was just doing his usual, which was to keep them as far apart as possible. He seemed to think, and Emily wasn't entirely sure that he was wrong, that too much time together would tip the team off to their extracurricular activites. She would rather not risk it, and she knew he felt the same.

"Major arteries," She commented, when the cornoner told her where the Unsub had made his incisions on their victim. "How much knowledge of the anatomy would someone need to do this?"

"Anyone with a basic understanding of the body knows where these arteries are." Entirely unhelpful, so she went on.

"Do you have any idea which of the wounds were delivered first?"

"Um, there was a- there was active blood flow from each of the wounds, so they're probably all delivered at about the same time." He seemed completely in his element as he explained. "With any of these wounds, the victim would bleed out quickly, almost like an animal at slaughter." Emily opened her mouth to speak, but he was still going, apparently finding his stride. "No. Exactly like an animal at slaughter. A deer or a lamb or a cow, something like that. You cut the throat first, then...then sometimes open up other major arteries to assist in draining the carcass."

"So, maybe a hunter?" Emily pressed, feeling at last like they were getting somewhere, like she would have something to take back to her team.

"Or a farmer," The coroner suggested, and Emily saw his face drop with a sign, "Pretty much anyone in rural Georgia."

"Oh." She tried not to sound too disappointed.

Coming back from the coroners, Emily didn't feel she was any closer to an answer than she had been before. As she stepped into the precinct, though, JJ's arm looped through her own, and she directed her towards the conference room. Emily gave her a playfully startled look, but her friends blue eyes were dark, and she gave a small shake of her head. Emily's heart sank. "What?"

"You're going to want to see this." Derek pressed a cup of coffee into her hand, which she was grateful for; still, none of them had slept.

He had filmed the whole thing. Emily could feel her lack of sleep in her muscles as she took her seat in front of the monitor with the others, Gideon at her side, Morgan and Hotch behind her, JJ on Gideon's other side. It was so strange to watch the Kyle's go about their evening routine, it churned up an unease in Emily's stomach; she, they, knew how this ended. The Kyle's did not, and it showed in the way Mrs Kyle was so at ease, so relaxed. Emily was still staring when the Unsub entered the room. She felt each step he took across the carpet as though it were a heartbeat, and she didn't look away when he drew his knife across Mrs Kyle's throat, nor when blood splattered across the room in a scarlett arc. She didn't notice that everyone else flinched, or looked away, and she didn't notice that both JJ and Hotch's eyes trained back on her when they could look again.

"Three unsubs?" Emily said, confused, voicing everyone's confusion.

"If this video came from that computer's camera, then what? Did the unsubs bring it with them?" Hotch was asking, confused. Reid, it seemed, thought differently; the computer belonged to the Kyle's, was full of their bank statements and other personal information.

"So, what, did the other Unsub turn the camera on?"

"I think we're asking the wrong questions. This video, this message, it's important. Clearly they want the world to see this," Gideon was saying, not so much to them as he was thinking out loud. "They need it...but they didn't bring a camera with them."

Emily was still staring at the screen, at the Unsub frozen on the screem, the frame jumping slightly. She didn't notice how Spencer paled, nor see him step away from the computer screen. But she heard him. "That camera is on right now."

Before they had the chance for Garcia to even attempt to trace the signal, though, "It turned off."

"Yeah, this video has gone crazy viral." Garcia was saying, over the phone. Gideon looked confused, but the others, young enough to understand her internet jargon, shared in a mutual sigh, Emily closing her eyes briefly. It was the very last thing they needed; for their unsub to gain notoriety.

"What does that mean?" Gideon asked.

"That means it's the most downloaded video on the entire internet." That was even worse than any of them anticipated, and it only got worse when Penelope said, "Worldwide."

They were in the conference room when the call came in, when they found out that, while they were discussing, debating, going over and over the details, the unsub had struck again. Having sent Reid and JJ to Hankel's house, Hotch told the others to move, took Gideon, Emily and Morgan to the victims house.

"This particular scene is weird," The detective on the case was saying, as they stepped into the house. "The male victim upstairs...his throat was cut."

"Why is that weird?" Hotch pressed, confused. It was in keeping with the M.O they had seen so far, it didn't strike him as strange at all-

"He doesn't live here. He's a local handyman." Hotch raised his eyebrows, and resisted glancing at Emily, who was making her way up the stairs with Morgan to go over the crime scene.

"According to Mr Douglas, he wasn't having any handy work done on the house, and his wife was supposed to be home."

"She's not?" Gideon asked. The detective just shook his head.

"She appears to be missing, but her car is here. Keys, wallet, purse. I've got a description out in the field."

"Did you copy down what the caller said?" Hotch asked, though he had a feeling he knew what the essence of the message would be.

"Yeah. 'Behold, I will cast her into a bed, and them that commit adultery'-Oh."

It hit a little too close to home for Hotch, who tried not to twitch as he tugged on the collar of his shirt, suddenly uncomfortable.

"So," Gideon was saying, "Adultery is the sin, but they kill him and not her. They abduct her." The detective opened his mouth to speak, but Gideon anticipated his question. "We always assume our victim is alive, unless there is evidence to the contrary."

"'I will cast her into a bed'." The detective repeated, as though contemplating the words.

"It's from Revelations again. It's about Jezebel." Hotch clarified.

"She was an adulterer, a whore, a false prophetess." Gideon was saying, each word like twisting the knife in Hotch's back. "She's the most reviled woman in the bible."

Hotch's eyes followed up the stairs, where Emily had disappeared to, where he could hear the tones of her voice upstairs, with Morgan's, but not make out the words either of them were saying.

"There's a laptop set up on the dresser upstairs," Morgan told Hotch, as he and Emily followed him out into the sunlight. Emily slipped her sunglasses onto her face, protecting her eyes from the bright, late afternoon sun as it began it's descent towards the horizon.

"With a pretty good view of the bedroom." Emily clarified.

"Garcia's trying to trace the camera's feed back to it's destination." Morgan told Gideon, as they passed him, and he headed upstairs to take his turn at looking over the site, along with another detective.

"So let's work this out," Hotch said, turning to Emily and Morgan, looking more tired than Emily had seen him thus far. "What does this new behaviour tell us about the unsub?"

"That there was only one unsub this time?" Emily suggested, though even as she was saying the worst, she knew they didn't fit, knew that the profile they'd already come up with, of there being a psychotic partner, made her words impossible. "Raphael? Alone?"

"Not if he's the psychotic," Hotch voiced her thoughts, and she nodded; she had known she was wrong, but they needed to explore every avenue. "He wouldn't be capable of operating efficiently. Someone was here to make sure he controlled himself; to make sure there was no evidence left behind."

"At the first crime," Morgan was saying, "Unsub one called the police, right? But this time it was Raphael, why? It's like the phonecall is necessary; it's all part of the same signature."

"Have we seen this in case history?" Hotch asked, and Emily couldn't answer, hadn't been with the team long enough, which was why Hotch's eyes fell on Morgan for an answer.

"A mixture of extreme psychosis and a controlled individual? No." His voice said that their answer was an obvious one. Hotch was frowning, looking at neither of them, and Emily could almost see his brain working overtime behind his eyes. She thoughg that Reid's presence, at that moment, would have been of great help. "On of the most common indicators of extreme psychosis is solitude."

"They don't exactly play well with others," She chimed in.

They lapsed into a silence, each of them thinking, each going through the evidence they currently had, and coming up short.

"Was Garcia able to find anything on a 'Raphael' in the records?" Gideon's voice broke in, as he joined them in the yard. Emily looked to Morgan for the answer, and he shook his head. "So, then, why is he naming himself? Twice? He's certainly not worried about us getting that name. In fact, he wants us to know it."

"An alias?" Emily suggested, feeling as though she were clutching at straws, like they all were. But Gideon's face was steady, more certain than the rest of them.

"Or Raphael doesn't exist." He clarified. She only grew more confused.

"So we're not looking for a team?" Morgan pressed, clearly just as thrown.

"Raphael is the name of one of the archangles," Suddenly all of Emily's religious teachings came back to her, and it was as though the pieces clicked into place before Gideon said it. "We may have one unsub. Suffering from the delusion that he's an archangel. That first phone call wasn't two people; it was one."

"What about the third voice?" Emily pushed, but Gideon shook his head. He didn't know, yet.

"Well, if Mrs Douglas is Jezebel," Hotch said, a dark expression on his face, "there's an especially unpleasant death in her future."

Emily remembered it, from her teachings, from her childhood, and tried not to picture it as Morgan and Gideon both headed towards the car, leaving her and Hotch stood for a moment. Hotch wasn't looking at her; his eyes were focused on the middle distance, and Emily wondered if he, too, was seeing what awaited Mrs Douglas if they didn't find her in time, if he was suddenly aware of each second as it counted down. Then, his eyes focused, and found her, and she thought she saw them soften.

"Are you alright?" He said, his voice laced with concern. She frowned, in a question, and he indicated the sunglasses.

"Oh," She touched them, remembered them, nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired. Starting with a bit of a headache."

"You should go back to the hotel and get some rest," He told her, and she knew he meant it, that he would let her go, that he wouldn't hold it against her if she stepped back, and not because they were sleeping together, but because he was a good boss. Nevertheless, Emily shook her head.

"I'll sleep when we solve this." She said, "What about you?" She asked, remembering the distant, unfocused look in his eyes.

"I'm fine." He said, too quickly. "I'll be better once this is all over."