Gideon and Emily grinned at each other when they uncovered the name of hostel Noah had last stayed in. "We have our starting point," he said.

"That we do," she agreed.

"What about his cell phone? Anything of interest?"

Emily pulled up the statement. "He called his mother several times in the past month. A Rolf von Grimmelshausen. That must be the Rolf your sister referred to. And this…" She taped the screen with a finger. "…Is our mystery number. It looks like Noah called it fifteen times and I bet if we looked at the previous month's statement, we will find many more."

Gideon breathed a sigh of relief. "I knew it!" he declared, feeling vindicated that he had been right about the validity of the test message. "I knew that text was from Noah."

Emily nodded it agreement, having no problem with being wrong about the sender of the text. At least they both knew it wasn't someone playing a cruel joke on them. Noah was in trouble and that made her more determined than ever to find him.

"We definitely need to find the owner of that phone. They might be able to tell us where Noah is or, even better, that he is with them."

"They could have disposed of the phone," he hated to point out.

"Let's hope that they didn't."

"What's that Rolf von something's number?" Gideon suddenly asked, whipping out his phone. "I want to call him."

Emily squinted at the screen and rattled off the number. He punched it into the phone and raised it to his ear. Seconds later he muttered a soft curse, hung up and then hit redial.

"What's wrong," she asked after the third attempt.

"I keep getting sent to his voicemail," he huffed in annoyance. All he wanted was for the damn kid to answer his damn phone. He needed answers now, not later at the kid's convenience.

"He's probably somewhere he had to turn his phone off or is in an area that has poor cell reception," Emily said calmly, having to be the voice of reason as she watched his frustration grow. The worry he had for his nephew was beginning to eat away at him. "Just leave him a message. He'll call back when he turns his phone back on."

He stared at her for a long moment before nodding. "You're right, Prentiss. Again. What would I do without your help?"

"You'd be wandering around the streets of Paris, thumbing through a French/English dictionary and unintentionally saying something inappropriate," she joked, trying to breathe some levity into the situation.

It worked and the ex-agent chuckled. "Probably. So shall we go check out the hostel?"

Emily glanced out the suite's windows and saw that the sun had almost set. The day had flown by faster that she had imagined it would. That could be good or bad depending on how you looked at it.

"I know you're not going to like what I'm going to say next, but I think we should wait until morning. Odds are we're going to be canvassing the neighborhood after we talk to the management and guests of the hostel. Most of the businesses around it have closed for the night."

"That's true," Gideon reluctantly conceded.

"I'm sure Noah is fine," Emily said confidently even though she didn't feel it. "You haven't gotten another frantic text from him."

"It could also mean that he's dead," he said grimly.

"We can't think that way," she counseled. "What did we always say about missing victims?"

"Until we have evidence to the contrary, we must assume the victim is still alive."

"Exactly. So instead of worrying all night, lets go flush out our tails from the lobby and go have dinner. I know a place that makes the best boudin noir aux pommes."

Gideon was intrigued. "That good?"

"It's delicious."

She was right. Sitting here worrying wouldn't do him any good. "I'm game," he agreed, grabbing his jacket. "What does it mean?"

Emily gave him a sly smile. "I'll tell you after you tried it."

The team was in position. Emily and Reid just flew in, their helicopter landing safely behind the line of police cars. One prisoner, she kept saying to herself as they disembarked. They were doing an exchange; one prisoner for a little boy. Emily had to distance herself from the situation. It wasn't the man who had made her a victim. It wasn't Ian Doyle. It was some nameless prisoner. And that boy… that boy was still Declan. The same boy she cared about so deeply about that it hurt. She would do whatever she had to do to protect him, even if the thought of Doyle getting away made her physically ill.

She could see the rest of the team from where she stood, Doyle cuffed and stilled between her and Reid. Hotch took the lead, pulling ahead of his gun armed agents to attempt contact.

With the megaphone in hand, he spoke. "This is the FBI. We know you have Declan. To ensure his safety, we would like to trade. Send us the boy, and we will give you Ian Doyle."

Emily waited with baited breath for their next move, gripping the prisoner's arm tightly in her grasp. Slowly, the plane door came down and Emily's heart clenched as she saw the man holding a gun to Declan's head. The boy looked terrified, and she was terrified for him. "It's okay," she said to herself, trying to send him the same calming thoughts telepathically. It didn't do much for either of them.

Reid urged them to walk, Emily oblivious to the command to bring Doyle closer, so focused on Declan, in watching him and praying he stayed safe. Each step felt like a million miles, her heart pumping at full force and her mind playing out every scenario. Then the world came to a standstill.

"Gun!" Derek shouted.

Only a foot away from Declan, literally in her reach, and a woman emerged from the plane, gun first, shooting without care of whom she hit. At first, Emily was stunned, as everything seemed to move in slow motion. Her hands released Doyle and she ran for Declan who was falling to the ground. She could vaguely hear the gunfire around her, the man, woman and Doyle all hit, but her eyes were fixed on the boy.

"Declan! Declan," she called to him, desperately praying for a response as she fell to her knees beside him. Blood. All she could see was blood. The ground, his tee shirt was stained with it. "No! Oh god, no," Emily cried, her hands pressing on his wound. He was dead. She knew he was, but she wasn't ready to accept it yet. It felt like she couldn't breathe, like all those years of working to protect him were wasted by a shot to the back. "Declan… please."

Reid materialized behind her and gently took her by the arm, trying to pull her away from the body. That was what he was now… A body.

"Stop," Emily demanded, jerking her arm free and reapplied the pressure even though she knew it was of no use. "Declan. Declan needs me."

"Emily…"

"This can't be happening. Reid, Declan needs an ambulance. Help him," she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"He's gone, Emily."

"No… No!"

"He's gone," Reid repeated, wrapping his arms around her and physically dragging her away.

"No. No!" she cried, fighting him and stretching her blood-covered hands toward the little boy's body. "Nooo…"

"Nooo!" Emily bolted upright in bed. Sweat beaded her brow and her heart thumped rapidly against her ribcage as clammy hands clutched at the sheets. "Declan?" she gasped, frantic eyes scanning the dark room.

It took a minute or two for the realization to settle in that she wasn't on some airstrip, but safe and sound in her Paris hotel room. Releasing a shuddering breath, Emily drew up her knees, resting her elbows on them as she scrubbed her face with her hands. The dream had seemed so real. She had felt the warmth of Declan's life seeping out between her fingers. Squinting in the darkness, she held her hands up expecting to see them covered in blood, but they were clean and shaking. Emily sighed in relief, dropping one hand to her knees while running the other through her sweat dampened hair. She had thought she had done everything right to prevent a nightmare from occurring.

Dinner had been a nice, quiet affair. Both had enjoyed the boudin noir aux pommes served with a red Bordeaux and followed by a pithiviers, an almond flavored cake. The look on Gideon's face had been priceless when she had told he had just dined on blood sausage with baked apples. Then over café noirs, he had gotten her to talk about what had been happening at the BAU since he had been gone. He couldn't help but notice that she glossed over the past year. Whatever had happened to her must have occurred to her during that time frame because it almost seemed like she had no clue what had gone on for several months.

Afterwards they had returned to the hotel. Gideon had retreated to his room to do whatever he did behind closed doors while she had headed for the pool to do some laps. The swimming had done her a world of good last night, leaving her tired and stress free so why not do it again. An hour later Emily had crawled into bed and had read until she couldn't keep her eyes open. She had gone to sleep thinking she was going to have another nightmare free night.

"Well that didn't work," she muttered, reaching to turn on the bedside lamp.

A sudden pounding on the door startled Emily, causing her heart to start racing. Then came the sound of the doorknob trying to turn. Now in a slight panic, she snatched her Glock off the nightstand and leveled it at the door.

"Prentiss! Are you alright?" Gideon shouted through the wood.

"Shit," she swore, lowering the gun. What was he doing here? Gideon was the last person she wanted to see right now. It was bad enough that he had somehow overheard her in the throes of a nightmare. She had to get rid of him. "Go away. I'm fine."

"I don't think so. Open up."

She sighed, climbed out of bed, set the gun back on the nightstand and went over to the locked door, but didn't open it, choosing to lean against it. "I'm fine, Gideon. Go back to bed."

He wasn't satisfied with her answer and knocked again, though with less urgency. "I'm not leaving," he announced.

Emily cracked the door open, her face barely visible in the space. "I'm okay. Nothing to be concerned about," she assured him.

"You were crying out in your sleep."

"No I wasn't," she said, defensively, hands releasing the door to wrap around her body.

"Prentiss…" Gideon started, taking her move as an invitation into the room and a way to get a better look at her. But before he could, she turned away from him. "What's going on? First Hotch seemed worried about you. Now this. What happened to you?"

"Nothing. It was just a bad dream. It's no big deal. Go back to bed, Gideon."

He wasn't ready to give up yet. He could be just as stubborn as she was. Something was wrong and he was genuinely worried about her. "Who is Delcan? You called out his name several times."

Her eyes grew wide as she turned back to him. "Wha…what?"

"Who is Delcan?" he repeated gently.

"Nobody of any importance," she lied with a shrug. She just wanted him gone.

She didn't fool him. "Clearly, that's a lie."

"Right…and you would know that because you know my life and the people in it so well," she shot back sarcastically.

He ignored her sarcasm. "I know that because it's written all over your face. So, I ask again, who is he?"

She shied away. "Gideon, mind your own business."

"Right now this is my business."

"I don't see how. I'm fine. You're fine… that's that."

"You woke me up with your screaming, officially making this my business."

"I told you, I'm…"

Gideon cut her off with a frown and a dismissive wave of his hand. "Fine…yeah yeah. I heard you. You don't want to tell me everything, okay. You don't have to. But you still need to have someone to talk to, because there's something going on. But I need something from you to know that you're really alright so that I can go back to bed without worrying you'll wake up screaming again and I won't be able to help you."

"I'm alright, really. It was just a bad dream. You know from personal experience that this job lends itself to bad dreams from time to time."

"So Declan was from a case gone wrong?" he probed.

Emily stared at him. Technically it was true. She didn't want to answer him, but she also knew him. Gideon would continue to press her unless she gave him something, but she couldn't. He was a stranger and not privileged to know what was going on in her head.

"Gideon, I appreciate what you're trying to do, really, but it was just a dream. I'm okay. I just want to get back to bed and you should do the same."

He gazed into her pleading dark brown eyes and realized he had gone as far as he could go. He wanted answers, but he wasn't going to get them at this time of night. Emily was too wary and from the year he had worked and profiled her, he had learned when pushed too much, she clammed up. He would bow to her request and revisit the subject when she was more relaxed.

"Alright," he huffed with a nod. "You win. I'll go back to bed." Gideon went to the door and paused in the opening. "Goodnight…Emily. Sleep well." Then he was gone.

She stared at the now closed door. He had called her Emily. Not once had he ever called her by her first name. It had always been Prentiss. She had often wondered if he had even known what it was. Hotch had been like that in the beginning, but as he warmed up to her and she to him, he only called her Prentiss when working. She gave her head a shake. Would wonders never cease, she thought wryly? Glad to be finally free of Gideon, she went to the bathroom to get a drink of water.

Turning the light on low, Emily purposely avoided looking in the mirror. She didn't need her reflection to tell her she looked like crap. She knew she was paler than normal, her eyes dull and tired, and her hair looking like she had stuck her finger in the nearest electrical outlet. Emily splashed some water on her face and then filled the drinking glass. As she raised it to her lips, she saw how bad her hand was still shaking. The nightmare and the confrontation with Gideon had rattled her more than she had originally estimated.

There was no way she was falling back asleep, not like she was. She spent a moment just leaning against the sink, thinking about her next move. Reentering the bedroom, Emily's eyes went to the clock. Its glowing colors read 3 am. It was evening in the States. Though she didn't want to bother him, he did offer and she could really use that ear to bend. So with a little hesitancy, she moved over to the edge of the bed, grabbing her phone as she did, and dialed the familiar number.

Hotch folded back the covers and climbed into bed, figuring he would work on some paperwork before officially calling it a night. Jack was tucked snuggly into bed dreaming about whatever little boys dream about. Probably superheroes, he thought with a chuckle. And before turning out the lights, they had read a chapter of 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory'. That was his favorite part of their nightly ritual, sitting next to his son in bed and listening proudly as he read aloud. He would savor every time until the day Jack told him he was too old for it, hoping that it wouldn't happen for many years to come. He had just opened the file when his cell phone rang. He picked it up and frowned when he looked at the screen.

"Emily," Hotch answered, worry evident in his voice. If she was calling, she was calling for a reason. It had to be very, very early in the morning there. No way should she have been awake.

"Hi, Hotch."

"How are things going there?"

The second Emily heard his voice she knew she had made a mistake. She shouldn't have called and interrupted his evening, even though he had told her to call if she was having a bad day. Tonight certainly qualified, but she still felt guilty about it. As much as she wanted to hang up on him, she knew she couldn't. Hotch would blow up her phone until she answered and told him the reason for the call. She had to tell him something and latched on to the first thing that popped into her head.

"Gideon is being a pain in my ass."

"How so?"

Emily didn't need anymore prompting and launched into everything he had done since landing in Paris, anger, annoyance and frustration echoing over the line. Hotch didn't interrupt her, knowing she had to vent because Gideon had that affect on people. As she talked, he used that time to profile Emily a bit, trying to determine her true reason for calling. He had a pretty good idea what it was, but he wanted to make sure before bringing it up.

"I just wish he would mind his own damn business," Emily finished up with.

"Sounds like Gideon is still being Gideon," he concluded reasonably.

"I guess," she conceded and then fell silent.

Hotch let the silence stretch on. Emily hadn't thanked him for listening nor had she hung up so he knew there was something still weighing heavily on her mind besides Gideon. She was waiting for some not too subtle nudging on his part.

"Emily, would like you to tell me the real reason you called me at 3 am Paris time? Did you have a nightmare?"

She blew out a breath of frustration and he knew he had hit the nail on the head. That was her tell, one that she didn't know she had and one he wasn't going to tell her about. She would then make a conscious effort to change it and he would lose a valuable tool in predicting her mindset.

"Tell me about it," was all he said.

Emily sighed as she stood up and went over to the window. Parting the curtains, she gazed out at the Eiffel Tower off in the distance. "It was one of the versions of the same dream I had regularly for the two months I was exiled here."

Guilt swept over him. He still regretted his decision in sending her unwillingly so far away from her family in order to protect her, but he would do it again. It had kept her alive and had brought her back to them.

"They all start off the same," she continued. "We're on some airstrip exchanging Doyle for Declan when one of the kidnappers bursts out of the jet and starts firing. Bullets are flying everywhere and people die. Some times it's one or all of the team. Other times it's Doyle, sometimes both of us or just me. This time…"

"It was Declan," he said softly.

"Yeah," she said, resting her forehead against the cool glass.

"Declan's still alive," he gently reminded her.

"I know." And yet, the pain of the loss that she had felt when she woke up was still raw and aching in her chest. She felt like she had lost him.

Realizing that she was a tough nut to crack, and she needed him to open up a bit for her to get comfortable enough to really talk, he offered her his own experience.

"Nightmares are the worst when you're away from home, aren't they?" Emily nodded in agreement. "I had some pretty bad ones after Foyet."

"What did you do about it?"

"For a long time…nothing. Nothing really helped."

"Great," she sighed wearily.

"But then I had a good friend remind me that I wasn't alone and that I had people I could lean on," he reminded her of their conversation many moons ago. "I talked about it with Dave. We all have nightmares. With what we see, how can we not? But the personal ones are always the worst."

"Did talking help?"

Hotch gazed at the photo of Haley he still kept on his nightstand. "Yes and no. It didn't make the nightmares go away immediately, but they started to lose their power."

Emily let out a rueful chuckle. "Is that your roundabout way of getting me to talk about it?"

"It's my way of taking your mind off of the nightmare. Is it working?" he asked with a small smile.

"A little."

"Good." He paused and then said, "Have you talked to Declan since you've been back?"

"I've been to several of his lacrosse games," she evaded.

Hotch arched an eyebrow. "Have you actually talked to him?" he pressed.

She turned away from the window and wrapped her free arm around her body, suddenly cold. "No."

"Why not?"

"It's complicated."

"How? All you have to do is say hi."

Emily sighed. "Not like that, Hotch. We…we haven't seen each other in almost eight years. I doubt he even remembers me. I asked Tom and Louise never to mention me."

He had known she had purposely stayed away to protect him, to hide him from those who wanted to exploit him. But he also thought Emily had done it to protect herself, to protect her heart. If she hadn't cared deeply about Declan, she wouldn't have gone through such extremes to relocate him and the nanny.

"Declan might still remember you," he suggested.

"I hope not. He's happier without me in his life," had become her standard refrain.

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Are you happy that he's not in your life?"

"Yes," Emily answered immediately, but Hotch heard the hesitancy loud and clear. She wasn't sure.

"I'm going to toss my two cents in here. I think if you had regular contact with him, you wouldn't worry so much about his safety and those particular nightmares will fade. Not immediately, but with time."

"That seems more like a quarter worth."

"Inflation," he deadpanned. "Will you at least think about it?"

"I will," she agreed softly.

"That's all I'm asking." Hotch glanced at the clock and saw they had been talking for almost an hour. "You should go back to bed and try to get some sleep."

"Yeah, I should," she said, seeing how late it was. She was going to have a long frustrating day tomorrow and she needed what sleep she could get. "Thanks, Hotch, for listening."

"I'm glad you called, Emily. And if you have another rough night, give me a ring. You know I'm here for you whatever the time."

"I do and I appreciate it. Night."

"Night," he said and hung up.

Hotch tossed the unopened file off to one side and scooted down in bed. With his hands behind his head, he gazed up at the ceiling. It felt good to help her over a rough patch, even if there were thousand of miles separating them. Emily was making progress. She was starting to trust him again.

Across the pond, Emily had the same thoughts. She actually felt better after talking with Hotch. He had made it feel like they were talking friend to friend and not boss to employee. Yawning, she crawled back into bed and burrowed beneath the covers, willing herself to relax. Eventually she fell into a restless, but thankfully, a dreamless sleep.