I'm sure you're all just dying to read this, but I have a couple of things I'd like to point out at this point!

First, I think you'll find that the more the story evolves the more we're pulling away from canon, so I'm kind of entering uncharted territory here, but I hope you'll still find the next few chapters believable in terms of characterization.

Second, I thought I would throw it out there that I actually know very little about the internal structure of the FBI and its regulations. My sole source of knowledge about this is Hollywood, so obviously not very reliable ;-) But I hope you'll allow me a little leeway about that!

Lastly, we're kinda getting to the crux of the matter here, but for some reason the final scene of this part was really difficult to write for me. This is the part that had me stuck for months. When I first started thinking about this story, that scene was supposed to be all action, torture and emotional disclosures, but I think I kinda crept myself out, so in the end I just had to go with a different, more psychological, scenario. You're probably all curious now, so I'll shut up and let you read, but I had to share :-)

Content warning: some swearing and coarse language, some violence.

Part 6

"Some things are better left unspoken
better left unsaid
some chains are better left unbroken
just to keep the thread
some feelings better left unopened
to keep a sane head
some stories better left unwritten"

- Unspoken by Neema

"Don't worry, we're going to keep a watchful eye out."

Hotch sighed into the cell phone as he flashed his ID to the security guard. "I know you will, Dave, keep me posted on any suspect activity."

He could almost picture Dave's expression of paternal concern as the older man replied. "Of course, Hotch. Now, go take care of your son."

"Alright, thanks."

Hotch flipped his phone shut just as he entered the BAU bullpen. Seeing that Prentiss's desk was deserted, he walked over to Morgan's. The younger man had contacted him an hour ago saying that Jessica had left Jack with Prentiss, and while Hotch had been reluctant to leave the perimeter of the cemetery, Jack still had to be his priority. He had vowed to himself and to Haley that he always would be. Plus he felt slightly angry that Jess had left Jack with Prentiss. Not that he didn't trust her to take good care of him, of course he did, she was fantastic with children, but Jack shouldn't be her responsibility. Especially in light of what had happened two nights before. The incident that he'd done his outmost not to think about, but failed miserably. It was always at the back of his mind… what if? What if he had kissed her? But just when his imagination about her response was about to slip from his control, the image of her wide, shocked eyes brought him back to reality. She had stopped him. That was clear enough, and he had to just let it go. But how could he, when this whole situation with her stalker kept bringing her back either physically into his company, or mentally into his every thought?

From her reaction afterwards, she seemed to want to ignore it, but Hotch couldn't do that. The dread he was feeling every time he saw her now was already affecting their working relationship. He had to discuss it with her and put a stop to this. Hopefully their plan would work, and this would be over soon. Maybe then he would be able to return to his clear-minded self and forget about the whole thing. God let this work…

As he approached Morgan's desk in a deliberate stride, the younger man turned to him with an inquisitive expression. "Hotch, what are you doing here? Everything okay?"

Hotch frowned in confusion. "I came for Jack. You said Jess left him here?" he said as he looked around at the bullpen, but finding no trace of his son, or of Prentiss, for that matter.

"She did, but she said she'd come back to pick him up in a couple of hours. You didn't have to come back," Morgan replied.

Hotch shrugged slightly, still trying to get a glimpse of Prentiss and Jack as he scanned the room and beyond the doors. "Well, I'm here now, so…"

Morgan nodded. "How did it go?"

"We set up the perimeter, no sign of him yet. Where's Jack now?"

"In the conference room with Prentiss."

He nodded his thanks and walked across the bullpen. As he climbed the stairs, he became more and more curious about the fact that there was no sound coming from the conference room, so he stopped at the doorway to peek inside. Maybe they had gone somewhere else? But then his eyes fell on the couch along the wall, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight. Jack was sitting quietly at one end, a squadron of paper planes scattered around him, while he played with two of the bigger models. What had really stopped him, though, was the sight of Prentiss, fast asleep at the other hand of the couch, one of her hands still holding a half-folded piece of paper. Smiling despite the sudden painful tug in his chest, he entered quietly, careful not to wake her up. She needed whatever rest she could get.

"Jack!" he whispered as he walked over and kissed his hair. "What are you doing?" he asked as he crouched in front of him and grabbed one of the planes to get a better look at Prentiss's handiwork. She was pretty good at it, he had to admit.

"Look daddy, look at all the planes!" his excited voice rose Prentiss and he saw her slowly open her eyes, then bolt up straight when she realized he was there.

"Hotch! You're back!" she said, sounding a little disoriented, and maybe even a little embarrassed that he'd found her asleep. For his part, the first thing that came to mind was that her flushed cheeks made her look even more enticing. Would the skin of her neck feel as warm under his fingertips as he imagined it would? He shook the thought away resolutely. "What time is it?" she asked, even as she looked down at her watch.

"Just past 9pm. We don't have a visual yet, but Morgan called and said Jess had dropped Jack here, so I left Dave in charge of the operation."

"Oh. Yes, though she said she'd be back to pick him up. She should be here soon…" She mumbled, still sounding a little disoriented. She turned to Jack, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, Jack, I guess I must have dozed off! God, I can't believe I fell asleep," she added, obviously more to herself. "Have you been enjoying the planes?"

Jack nodded enthusiastically. "But I tried to make them, but I couldn't."

"Here, let me show you how-"

"Not now, Jack," Hotch gently interrupted. "Agent Prentiss needs some rest, and you, buddy, need to get ready to go back home."

Jack complained for a few seconds, until Hotch sent him a stern look. "That's not negotiable, Jack. Why don't you gather your planes so you can take them home when Jess comes back?" Pacified, Jack jumped off the couch and started gathering the planes around him. Hotch took the opportunity to steal a glance in Prentiss's direction, noticing from the corner of his eye how she was trying to straighten her clothes and hair, all the while a slight blush covering her cheeks and neck. Damn it, why did he have to be so aware of her presence? All of a sudden he was annoyed for letting himself feel the way he felt. He had to get a goddamn grip!

After a second, she seemed to have composed herself enough to stand and look at him. "So, how did the stake out go?" she asked.

"For now we're on standby. The perimeter is established and covers as much ground as possible, but it is a big cemetery. I'm afraid he's going to find somewhere to hide where we have little chance of catching him beforehand."

Prentiss nodded bravely, but he didn't miss how she swallowed, hard. "So, what do we do if this doesn't work and we don't get him before the funeral?"

Hotch met her eyes. He was really hoping it wouldn't come to that, because then he would have to order her not to go. And she probably wouldn't accept that very easily. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," he replied carefully.

She held his gaze for a second, making him more aware than ever that she, too, was a profiler. "You're not going to let me go, are you?"

Hotch shifted on his feet uncomfortably and let out an annoyed sigh. Damn her for knowing where to push to touch a nerve. "I'm not going to physically restrain you, if that's what you're asking. And I don't see how I could keep you from going otherwise."

She frowned slightly. "What does that mean?"

He let out another frustrated sigh as he turned to Jack and helped him pick up the few remaining planes and put them into his little backpack. He wasn't trying to be contentious, but he couldn't keep his weariness and annoyance – albeit misdirected - from hardening his tone. "It means that I could order you not to go, but I'm not sure that it would be enough to keep you from going. So ultimately it's up to you, Prentiss."

For a few seconds she stared at him with wide, incredulous eyes that made him look away. "Where is this coming from? When have I ever disregarded a direct order?"

"I remember a case or two that got a little too personal."

She shook her head, her expression turning from incredulous to annoyed. "That was years ago, Hotch. You're the one who keeps saying that what happens to one of us happens to the rest of us – well, I've learned my lesson! Even more so over the last few days. How dare you think I would do anything that would put anyone else at risk? If you ordered me right now to just stay put, I wo-"

Hotch looked up when she stopped mid-sentence, as if she hadn't been quite aware of what she was about to say. "You what? Would comply? Would you, really?" he asked a little more calmly, and that seemed to throw her off a little.

"Well, I…" She stopped herself again and held his gaze, only for a moment, before she sighed and put a hand to her forehead in a gesture he recognized as weariness. "Truth is I don't know," she replied, sounding a little deflated. "You know how important this is to me, Hotch." She met his gaze again. "How would you react, if you were in my place?"

That was a fair question, one he had asked himself a few times before, and he knew the answer, but for some reason wasn't ready to acknowledge it yet. Not if it meant loosing this battle against keeping her safe. "I don't know," he said at last, not meeting her eye and focusing on Jack instead. The poor boy was looking between the two of them with wide, worried eyes, and until then Hotch had not really considered how this could look to a five year old. "Jack, buddy, why don't you show Agent Morgan your planes? I'll come and join you in a few minutes."

Jack nodded and left the room with one last glance towards Prentiss, who smiled weakly in response. Once he was gone, her expression returned to one of complete seriousness, and Hotch thought he could even detect a little anguish in her eyes.

"I don't believe you." She resumed their conversation. "I know you, Hotch. If our situations were reversed, you would do as you damn well please, you wouldn't let a direct order stop you from doing something you think is right."

She was right, of course, and although the boss in him almost retorted that she was way out of line, for some reason that line he had tried so hard to maintain over the last month had been blurred beyond recognition in a matter of a few days. And he couldn't bring himself to reprimand her for insubordination when he knew that, while they were talking about chains of command, the conversation wasn't really about that. It was about trust, and about their relationship, and how the whole Norland case was affecting the both of them. At that moment, they were equals, if not in position, then definitely in their right to express what they were really feeling. He didn't want to hide behind his position anymore. Not where she was concerned. And he still meant what he had told her a few days before, about respecting her decision. Ultimately, as much as it cost him to stand aside, this was her life, and he had no right to tell her how she should live it.

He sighed, then took off his baseball cap to rake his fingers through his hair before putting it back on. "You're right." He admitted. "I probably wouldn't listen to anyone who would try to stop me from doing something that I knew to be right. And you're right, Agent Mansfield deserves us to be there when he's put to rest. All of us," he insisted, and he could see a little twinkle of hope return to her eyes.

"What are you saying?" she asked, eyes widening, and he could tell she was trying to contain her growing excitement. She was way too happy that he'd admitted he was wrong, was he really that stubborn that he didn't know when to own his mistakes? He shook his head in bemusement as he took in a deep breath.

"As soon as Jess comes back to pick Jack up, we'll return to the cemetery. To the surveillance van," he added quickly as he saw her expression turning even more excited.

"Sounds good to me," she said with a nod, failing to conceal her sudden surge of energy, despite her best attempt.

He couldn't help but smile a little, the bittersweet tug in his chest returning as he threw her a sidelong glance. "I should get back to Jack," he said as he turned to walk back to the bullpen. "Maybe Morgan showed him how to actually make the planes."

She sighed dramatically. "I hope not. They'd end up looking like sailboats," she said as she whisked past him, leaving him with a small smile and feeling just a little more confident that they would make it through this. Maybe. Whatever this was.

As promised, Jess returned around 9:30 to pick up Jack, so Hotch took the opportunity to make arrangements with her for the next 48 hours. After all, he had no idea how this whole thing with Norland would unfold, and he wanted to make sure that he wouldn't have to worry about Jack when his attention should be entirely focused on the case at hand. Though he still wanted to discuss her dropping Jack at the BAU without telling him first, he decided that it could wait. Besides, it was of no fault of hers, he had told her he would be there. For the moment he had to focus.

Morgan and Prentiss seemed more than happy to join the operation once more, so after grabbing a quick bite to eat, fill up on coffee, and getting them to put on some basic disguises, they made their way to the cemetery to meet up with the surveillance team. They met up with Reid and Agent Sheppard in the van, and after a quick update on the operation, Hotch contacted Dave through the radio.

"Rossi, anything?"

"Negative," Dave replied after a second. "We're all holding our position for now, but no visual on the suspect yet."

"Very well. What about you, Garcia, how are you doing?"

As planned, Garcia's post was at the BAU with JJ, since she had access to a number of surveillance cameras throughout the neighborhood from her own station, which was much more than they could access on the ground.

"Good, sir, though nothing overly suspicious on our end either," she replied.

"Alright. This will be a long night people," Hotch said into the radio, "let's make sure we stay focused. We will rotate our positions every couple of hours to assure that at least we all get a few hours of rest. Always work in pairs, and if you see anything, and I mean anything, report and we will investigate as the situation warrants. Any questions?" He waited for a few seconds, then went on. "Alright then, our next rotation will be in 120 minutes."

The next couple of hours were spent mostly observing playback from various surveillance cameras, with some interruptions here and then by light conversation and lighthearted joking. Hotch tried to stay out of it, though he understood how necessary it was for everybody present to keep the morale up, as well as do anything to stay awake. Hotch eventually tuned their voices out and focused entirely on the job and the small monitors in front of him.

The cemetery was closed at night, and though someone could probably step over the 7 feet high fence if they really wanted to, their perimeter had every side of it covered, if not by a camera, then by their own people. There seemed to always be a few people wandering or walking their dog along the fence, and maybe a homeless person here and there, but Hotch always had them either followed or looked at closer to make sure their business there was coincidental. So far, no sign of the UnSub. Of course, it was early still, and while this was still their best chance at catching the man, Hotch couldn't help the doubt that crept into his mind. What if his profile was wrong and he didn't show up? What if Agent Mansfield's death was unrelated to the UnSub's game? The evidence pointing to his murder at the hand of the same UnSub was only circumstantial, after all. Or what if it was related, but he was smart enough to predict what they would do and not show up?

Stealing a glance in Prentiss's direction, he couldn't help but notice how exhausted she still looked despite her earlier burst of energy, and he knew that she wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer. And to be honest, neither could he. As if sensing his eyes on her, she unexpectedly met his eyes across the small room and slowly took a sip of her coffee, as if quietly pondering why he was looking at her, then looked away and returned to her quiet conversation with Morgan. Hotch almost believed her act, but the behaviorist in him couldn't help but detect a certain degree of self-consciousness in the way she now held herself and resolutely looked at the screens. Was she affected as well, then? He couldn't tell if this was only wishful thinking, but he seemed to remember from their… incident… that at some point she had seemed to welcome him, but since then she had acted as if nothing happened. Resolutely ignoring it. Truth be told, he couldn't blame her. What would she risk by even merely considering the idea? And as far as he could tell, she was still dating someone else. So then, why did she look so affected now? She was a puzzle to him like no woman had ever been before, and that, he realized, was probably at the heart of the matter.

"…rotation, Hotch?"

Hotch was pulled from his thoughts by Morgan's voice. "I'm sorry?"

"I was just saying, I think it's time for our rotation. Where do you want us?"

Hotch looked at his watch, and sure enough, the 120 minutes were up. He had been so absorbed in the monitors and his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed any time pass. "Right. Morgan, Reid, Agent Sheppard, you relieve Agents Rossi and Timmins from the North entrance bench," he picked up the radio and looked down at the map, then dispatched the rest of the agents across their various strategic locations. "Rossi, Timmins, how about you get some more coffee on your way back? I think we could all use it."

"Sure thing, sir," Timmins's cheeky voice replied. "We have pencil and piece of paper in hand, folks, and we await your orders," she said with a flourish.

Reid looked pleased at the prospect and was about to give his preference when Hotch stopped him before a sound left his lips. "She was joking, Reid," he said with a small smile.

"Oh. Right. Maybe next time."

Hotch exchanged an amused look with Morgan, and then Prentiss, then returned his gaze to the map. "Be careful guys," he said as Morgan, Sheppard and Reid rose to their feet and, with one last nod, exited the van. It's only then that Hotch realized that his choice of pairs had left him alone with Prentiss. He threw her a look, but she was closely looking at the screens once more, frowning in concentration.

"Anything?" he asked as he sat back down in his seat, a couple of empty chairs between them.

She shook her head. "No. I hope we're right about this."

Hotch threw her another look at the sound of his own doubts being spoken aloud and sighed. "Me too."

They stayed silent for a few minutes, it seemed making the tension between them increase tenfold as each second turned into the next. After what felt like eternity, he rested his gaze on her profile again, this time steadily, until she would be unable to resist looking in his direction. Sure enough, she held on for a few seconds, until she slowly turned her head towards him.

"We're going to have to talk about it at some point," he said softly.

One of her shoulders rose in a half-shrug and her eyes darted down briefly. "Don't you think some things are better left unsaid?"

Hotch held her gaze for a second. Was that really what she wanted? To just ignore it? He would respect her wishes if that were truly what she wanted, but for some reason he couldn't quite believe it. For one, he believed in honesty at all cost, and he'd always thought that nothing could be gained from ignoring an awkward situation. It would only make it worse. He opened his mouth to disagree but just at that moment, a knock on the door startled them both back into the present.

"Hot coffee, thank God," she said lightly as Hotch rose to his feet to open the door to Rossi and Timmins. Only it wasn't Rossi and Timmins, and the surprise made him hesitate for a second, but it was a second too late as the hooded figure that stood outside swiftly jumped in, swinging something at his head before he could reach his gun. He saw a flash of cold blue eyes – Norland – before the object struck his temple with such force that a flash of white blurred his vision.

And then everything went black.

When Hotch came to, the first thing to came to mind was that he felt like crap. Blood was pounding painfully against his skull, the left side of his face hurt like hell, and the lingering dizziness made him nauseous. There was something warm and sticky sliding down his face. Blood. What the hell happened? The last thing he remembered was…

Oh God! No, no, no! Where was she? If the son of a bitch had so much as touched the hair on her head, nothing would stop Hotch from blowing his brains to pieces! There was no controlling the overwhelming panic of going through this again, but his training had taught him that acting recklessly could cost both their lives, so he willed himself to push aside the rage and fear, and resolutely kept his eyes shut, instead focusing on his other senses. He tried to move slowly to assess the situation, but he soon found that his hands were tied behind his back, and his legs were tied to the legs of the chair he was sitting on. Even though his eyes were closed, he could tell from the stagnant air and sounds that he was indoors and that it was dark, but couldn't be sure what kind of room without risking opening his eyes. It was cool, damp and smelled of diesel. A garage of some sort? Fighting the dizziness that blurred his thoughts, he tried to focus on his surroundings, straining his ears and trying to hear anything that would give him a sign that Prentiss was there with him, alive and well.

At first he couldn't hear anything, but as he got used to the silence around him, he finally detected something. His heart swelled with relief when he realized it was her soft breathing, not too far in front of him. Not hearing or sensing any sign of a third presence, he finally opened his eyes slowly.

His previous assessment had been correct, they were in fact in some kind of garage, or even an old basement, it was dark, but there must be at least one window because light from street lamps illuminated Prentiss's silhouette a few feet in front of him. He couldn't see her face very well, but she was sitting in the same position he was, eerily still with her head bent forward. Unconscious. But from what he could tell she looked otherwise uninjured.

Cursing under his breath at seeing her unconscious, Hotch tried to think back to Norland's file and the profile they had built around his most recent behavior. They had thought he was including the whole team into his delusions, but now it appeared that his scenario only included the two of them. Why? He understood how he would make Prentiss the victim of his sick game, but why Hotch and none of the others? Hotch had known all along that the UnSub was trying to get under his skin, but why? And why involve the others with the pictures, but not when it mattered? It was true that when they had first investigated him, Hotch had often partnered with Prentiss during interviews. Was he blaming him too? Could it be as simple as that?

Feeling a little bolder now, Hotch looked around more carefully. There were a number of objects just lying around that he could eventually use as a weapon, various car parts, tools, pipes, but none were within his reach. A reflection in front of the only door caught his eye, and he realized with a sinking feeling that there was a camera on a tripod pointed in their direction. He couldn't tell if it was video or photo though. Photos were something new that the UnSub had developed only since he started stalking Prentiss, or at least they hadn't noticed them to be a part of his profile before. Why? Why use them so much now? Some outside influence, maybe? Hotch was dreading where this was going, but he had to consider the possibility of a second UnSub, a stalker in the truest sense who preferred to stay in the shadows, who would rather shoot a gun from a safe distance than seek out the challenge of close combat. Someone who would have taken the pictures, followed her every move, and shot Agent Mansfield. A docile accomplice would make more sense than Norland changing so much of his MO. Why hadn't they considered it before?

While this made more sense, it also made the business of getting out of there a little bit more complicated.

He heard more than saw Prentiss start to come to, but he feared that the UnSubs were looking at them through the camera feed and waiting for both of them to be conscious to come in and act on their compulsions. "Prentiss," he said very quietly, keeping his head down so the camera wouldn't catch the movement of his lips, hoping that sound capture would be bad enough not to catch what he was saying. "If you can hear me, don't move, don't look up. We need to buy some time."

It took a second, but then: "Hotch," she whispered, following his lead, making him sigh in relief. "Are you okay?"

Her concern took him aback for a second. He had expected a 'what's going on' or maybe an acknowledgement of his order. "I'm fine. You?" he returned the question, dreading the answer. God, if he had touched her…

"I'm fine. He just knocked me over. Hotch, I think he's injured. I think I shot him."

Oh that was good news. He loved every single word in that sentence. Except... "You think?" he asked, still keeping his voice and head down.

"It happened so fast, but I think… I pulled the trigger just before he made contact. I couldn't have missed him."

"Then the others probably heard the shot. This could buy us some time."

Hotch told her of his conclusions about an accomplice and Emily, being even more familiar with Norland's file than he was, agreed, though not before kicking herself for not seeing it. They surmised that Norland and the potential second UnSub had known somehow they had set up surveillance at the cemetery, and had waited until the perfect opportunity for Hotch and Emily to be left alone together. Plus they had been looking for a single man, not two people. The change in position of the surveillance team had allowed them to get close without anyone noticing anything. It was eerily brilliant.

Their hushed conversation continued for a while, though neither of them could actually tell how much time had passed since Norland had knocked on the van's back door ("The nerve!" Emily had ranted). It couldn't be that long, the others would have reacted quickly and while neither of them had their phone, the others might have been fast enough to see something and follow them. All they had to do was buy some time.

The sound of footsteps interrupted their attempts at loosening their ties, and both sat still as Norland slowly walked in, alone. He looked scruffier than Hotch remembered, with unkempt hair and beard and clothes that hung too loose on his frame. Hotch immediately noticed a slight limp and how he seemed to favor his left side. Prentiss had shot him. He also immediately noticed the army knife he held so tight his knuckles were white. Either he was really angry, or in a lot of pain. Either way, this would be to their advantage. Norland's strength had always been his patience and methodical intelligence. He never acted recklessly until the very last moment before his final attack, but anger and pain might lead him to make a mistake. Hotch briefly exchanged a look with Prentiss, who sat completely still but for the movement of her eyes. He was impressed at how calm she looked as she stared steadily at Norland.

But then again, this was the moment she had been waiting for. For weeks now, she had wished that Norland would just suck it up and do something, and this was her chance to get this over with and take control of her life again. He could tell she wasn't afraid of him, and in way she seemed to be almost looking forward to this confrontation. Hotch had never admired her so much as he did at that moment.

Norland observed her silently for a few seconds, paying Hotch no mind, until a twisted smile appeared on his face. "Well, pretty Emily. Long time no see. Missed me?" he asked, his smile turning into a smirk.

"Oh Steven, every second of every day," she replied in the same sarcastic tone, without missing a beat.

He chuckled, stepping closer and slightly touching a lock of hair that escaped her ponytail with the tip of his finger. "Me too, Emily," he sighed. "I haven't stopped thinking about you since we last met," he said, his smooth tone dripping with dangerous undertones.

Hotch had to force himself to stay still and not react to the taunt, but Emily's composure helped him focus on his own. She was playing a dangerous game, though, and he only went with it because he knew she was purposefully keeping Norland's attention away from himself. He took the opportunity to start working on loosening the ties around his legs again, wriggling without trying to move too much.

She smiled with a coy shrug of the shoulders. "I have that effect on men, sometimes."

"I'm sure you do," Norland replied as he stepped even closer and slowly caressed the side of her face with the knife. She didn't budge, but Hotch felt his blood turn cold at the gesture.

"Does she have that effect on you too, Agent Hotchner?" Norland asked as he unexpectedly whirled around in his direction, though the knife was still pointed at Prentiss's face. He had lost his smirk and seductive tone, and there was only coldness and anger in his expression now.

"What do you think?" Hotch replied forcefully, allowing himself to play the game. "Of course she does. Look at her! It's the reason you sent me that picture, isn't it? So she would drive me crazy, just like she does you? Well done, Steven, she's been torturing me for weeks."

Norland's smirk returned. "Sorry to hear that, man. Women, one never knows whether to kiss 'em or wring their little necks," he said, maybe with more feeling than he'd intended, because he looked away, his eyes resting on the knife in his hand. "It's funny you should talk about torture, though. 'Cause I don't think anyone can know what torture really is until they gone through what I've gone through."

"Now you're gonna make this about your mom, Steven?" Prentiss retorted cynically. "Really, you're gonna play that card? The poor little boy whose mommy never wanted?" She added provocatively, and Hotch was worried that she was pushing it too far, that is until he saw Norland's left hand ball into a fist. That was her goal, he realized, she was trying to make him act on his anger so she could use it against him.

"You know nothing about me, Emily," he said, his tone still calm, though Hotch thought he could detect a little tremor in his voice.

She smiled sweetly, almost patronizingly. "You're wrong, Steven, I know everything about you. I know the first thing you think about when you wake up is how to make women do whatever you want, but then you're reminded that no matter how much you want it, you just can't stick it up!"

For a second Hotch thought Norland would strike her, so he prepared himself to lunge at him if necessary, but Norland didn't react, only shifted on his feet, edgily. She was getting to him.

"You don't know what you're talking about, bitch!"

"Oh, I'm the bitch now? Just because I see through your little game and I stopped you from getting what you want-"

"You TOOK AWAY MY LIFE!" he yelled suddenly and before neither of them could react, Norland had dropped the knife and hit her jaw with all his might, sending her and the chair she was sitting on to the floor. She moaned in pain as she hit the hard concrete, but Hotch thought he had seen her briefly shake her head no, so he forced himself to stoically remain where he was.

Norland straightened up again, panting, and turned to Hotch. "And YOU," he started as he picked the knife and stepped closer. Hotch had very vivid memories of how it felt to be stabbed with a knife, and he didn't want to repeat the experience. He had to keep talking.

"Yes, Steven, what about me?" he said. "Maybe Prentiss thinks she knows all about you, but I know that's not possible. What you did tonight, Steven, that was brilliant profiling. No matter what she says," he jerked his chin his Prentiss's direction, "you fooled us all. How did you do it?"

That seemed to take him aback for a second, but then he seemed to relax his grip on the knife. "I knew what I'd done. I knew you'd want to be alone with her. All I had to do was wait."

"Your knowledge of human nature is very impressive, Norland. You knew my weakness before I even knew it myself."

"I'll admit, it was fun watching a great man like you squirm like a worm in the sun. I have to say, I really loved looking at the two of you from afar. So close and yet so far," he smirked. "It's like you said, Agent. Torture." Hotch realized with a sinking feeling that the man was gaining some control over his emotions again, and that wasn't good. The good thing was that hitting Prentiss has seemed to awaken his pain again. His breathing was getting more labored and his movements appeared sloppier.

"In fact, why don't we make this a little more fun?" Norland asked, apparently to himself, as he walked back to Prentiss, and roughly pulled her chair back up, then took hold her hair to force her to look at him. The side of her face was already starting to bruise and swell from his blow, but she still wouldn't flinch and held his gaze stubbornly. Norland threw Hotch a triumphant look, before taking the knife close to Prentiss's chest, and in a swift move ripped the first two buttons of her blouse.

"Wait!" Hotch yelled before he could stop himself, but he couldn't let Norland win. He had to keep stalling! Desperately searching his head for another strategy, he met Prentiss's eyes for a second, then looked back up at Norland, who seemed taken aback, but pleased that he'd gotten a reaction from Hotch so fast.

"Let me do it."

That he hadn't expected. "What?"

"You heard me. She's been tempting me for weeks, always in my fucking mind, always getting close and then pulling away. Teasing. Like I'm just a toy she can play with. She's been playing me as much as she's played you, Steven. You think you want me to suffer, but we both know who you're really trying to punish here."

Norland seemed to hesitate, so Hotch pushed it a little bit more.

"All I ask is a little taste. After that she's yours. You owe me that, at least."

Hotch was amazed that Norland would seriously consider it, after all anybody in their right minds could tell that Hotch was desperate. But a little flicker of hope burned his chest as he saw Norland looking between the two of them. Hotch pretended to throw her a lascivious look and he saw her expression change the moment she got into the act.

Her eyes filled with tears. "Hotch! I trusted you! Please don't," she pleaded softly, looking suddenly so afraid that Hotch's breath caught in his throat. Damn she was good. Her pleading seemed to do the trick, making Norland smirk slowly.

"Alright, it ain't how I usually do it, but this could be… entertaining," he said as he walked to Hotch and bent down, swiftly cutting through the rope around his ankle. This was it! Once freed, Hotch didn't waste any time. Jumping to his feet, he did a 180-degree rotation on himself, the element of surprise allowing him to both kick Norland into his right side and hitting him the legs of the chair at once.

Norland fell back against the back wall, with the force of both blows, his hands clutching to his side as if to stop blood from seeping from his wound. He looked up at Hotch in shock, but then his rage seemed to consume him and even make him forget about his pain as he jumped to his feet and lunged himself at him, knife ready to strike. Hotch didn't wait for him and met him halfway, running head first into his stomach, making them both fall to the floor. Not being able to protect himself with his hands, Hotch fell on his shoulder and gasped in pain as he felt his humerus dislocate from its socket. Standing up again as swiftly as he could muster while being tied to a chair and with a dislocated shoulder, he swirled around again and once more used the chair to hit Norland, this time in the face. The man stumbled back against the wall and slid to the ground, moaning in pain. He wouldn't stand up again. Not for a few seconds anyway.

Hotch barely had time to turn on his heels to make sure Prentiss was alright, when a screeching "Noooooooooooo" resonated throughout the building, and soon the door swung open, revealing another man, much smaller in build than Norland, his face sweaty and distorted with rage, holding a wavering gun at Hotch. "He promised you wouldn't take her away!" he yelled in despair. "He said she would be MINE!"

He was about to shoot, Hotch could see it in his eyes, but at that precise moment, a loud chorus of "FBI", "FREEZE!" "On the floor, hands on your head!" startled the man as the cacophony was meant to do, and soon enough, Morgan was barging into the room, pinning Norland down and roughly handcuffing him, while Agent Sheppard took care of intimidating the second man into submission.

Rossi quickly stepped in and helped Hotch with the remaining ties, while Reid took care of Prentiss.

"Good timing, guys," Prentiss said, panting, as she rose to her feet slowly, her fingers massaging her wrists then touching her face.

Hotch approached her slowly, observing her carefully to make sure she was alright. She would have a nasty bruise on her cheekbone, but otherwise she seemed okay. She met his concerned gaze with her own and, to his utmost surprise, slowly but steadily walked up to him and brought her arms up loosely around him, in an act of pure relief. Hotch stood still for a second, until his uninjured arm went around her shoulder and squeezed lightly, careful not to put too much pressure.

"Thank you," she whispered softly into his shoulder before pulling away.

Hotch stopped her with his hand on her shoulder to look into her eyes, gazing at her with renewed awe. "You never let him have the upper hand," he said.

She nodded quickly, apparently getting that he was clumsily trying to pay her a compliment. She didn't say anything more before quickly turning away and walking out, escorted by Rossi and Reid.

Clutching his arm, Hotch watched as Morgan and Sheppard roughly pushed the two accomplices forward and out of the room, catching Norland's look of hatred as he passed by him.

Never again, Hotch thought.

End part 6

Like I said before, this last scene didn't turn out exactly as I first imagined it would, but I hope it was still satisfying! Take that Norland! :-)

It's funny, some of you figured out that Norland had a partner much earlier in the story than I did when I was writing it, which is why he only makes a short appearance here, and why the team didn't consider it before. It wasn't my intention to have Norland have a partner at first, but then it just struck me that it would make much more sense! Duh! So good profiling call to those who saw it coming! :-)

Next, the aftermath from Emily's point of view…