Thank you for the reviews for the last chapter. Something seems to have gone wrong with the site (not a rare thing!) and some people have reviewed and it hasn't showed up (you can check the reviews for this story to see if it has). I think the same thing happened for the previous chapter too. Please let me know (or re-review!!!!) as I will do another extra scene shortly as an apology for my extremely brief review replies.

Thank you to my Ozzie beta, Chiroho, and after calling him an Ozzie instead of Aussie, he'll probably refuse to continue... (please don't refuse to continue – I'm only joking, I'll make sure I spell it properly in future...)

Where the Blue of the Night

"We have no right to express an opinion until we know all of the answers."

- Kurt Cobain

Chapter Eight

November 4th

They followed protocol. Morgan and Rossi had taken the back, while Hotch and JJ were concealing themselves at the front, leaving Reid and Emily to knock on the door and see if Mrs. Jennifer Keeley was in and willing to answer.

It had started to rain, drops of water pelting from the sky, as if it was trying to cleanse the ground through force and water alone. Emily could feel a trickle of water running down the side of her face as she banged on the door, hoping it could be heard above nature's noise. "Jennifer Keeley?" she shouted for the third time. "This is the FBI. We need you to open up."

There was no response, not that she was surprised. The house was dark and three newspapers, now soggy and disintegrating, sat on the front lawn. Emily doubted that anyone had been there in days.

She turned around, seeing Hotch emerging from the car into the rain. He lifted his wrist and spoke into the radio there. They were going in.

Her heart beat a little faster, as it always did in these situations. A car she knew belonged to the local PD pulled up alongside their Suburbans, available for back up. It was doubtful they would need it until later, when the premises needed to be sealed and secured.

The door wasn't a particularly strong one, and casting a brief look at Hotch she decided to take it down herself. It was one way to alleviate a build up of stress. She kind of got why Morgan enjoyed knocking down the walls in the places he bought to renovate.

Three kicks later and they were inside, finding the place in total darkness. The post box looked almost full, full enough to suggest that the owner had been absent for at least a week. They cleared the living room first, its tidiness covered with a layer of dust that was visible under the torchlight. A word from Rossi told them that the back of the house was empty, and Emily, Hotch and JJ made their way up the stairs, passing pictures that looked like originals hung on the walls.

The carpet was thick enough to make their footfalls soundless. The house eerie in the night time silence, as if it had taken on a life of its own and was quietly watching them.

JJ stayed outside the first bedroom while Emily and Hotch entered, checking wardrobes and even under the bed. She knew that they both thought the house was empty. Intuition told them when somebody was in a building, and right now, hers was saying that no one was home.

"It's clear," Hotch said quietly. "Let's try the next room."

He nodded at JJ as they walked past, opening the second of four doors. This time it was a study, furnished in dark oak, which was well polished giving the strong smell of furniture wax. There were no closets to check, and in less than a minute they were back on the landing, hearing Morgan's voice carrying from downstairs.

"Bathroom and the master bedroom," Hotch said, pushing open the third door. A plain white bathroom suite was in front of them. He opened a tall closet door and found a pile of towels waiting to pounce on them.

"Clear," Emily said, sarcasm lacing the word. "This is looking worrying."

The door to the master bedroom was already slightly open, Emily figuring the air pressure had disturbed it already. She followed Hotch it, covering him while he opened up the wardrobes, checked under the bed, and finally slid open the door to the en suite bathroom. "It's clear upstairs," he said into his wrist.

"I'm going to have a look in the study," Emily said. "There's got to be something here somewhere that tells us where she's gone." She left Hotch on the landing, flicking on the light in the small third bedroom that Mrs Keeley had decided to use as the place to deal with her correspondence. An old looking laptop sat on the desk, a wire connecting it to a printer that could be picked up for fifty dollars from any Wall-Mart.

She began to look through the drawers, finding an array of newspaper clippings. Some were about Juliet Fletcher, others on stem-cell research that had been done with the use of aborted foetuses, most were articles that had an anti-abortion slant. Everything was well organised and tidy. Emily opened the laptop and switched it on, preparing to wait a long time for it to boot up. It didn't, coming straight out of hibernation.

An internet page was on the screen showing reservations for the room in Dallas. On another tab was a website listing proposed peaceful demonstrations for the right to life campaign, including the Dallas one and a listing for a three day conference with a variety of speakers. But Mrs. Fletcher hadn't checked into that hotel room, although that didn't mean she wasn't at the conference.

"Have you found anything?" Reid said, making Emily jump. "Hotch wants to leave. Thinks we should come back in the morning with a couple of the seconded agents. Man, all I want to do right now is sleep."

She nodded in sympathy. "I could do that too, Spence. Does this place have a basement?"

Reid shook his head, his rather erratic hair bouncing around untidily. "No basement. There's a shed which is used for storage instead. Although this place is in an expensive area to buy property, it's actually not worth much. It was pretty much thrown up by the builders about seven years ago so they could make a quick buck. It's small too." He looked around the room judgementally.

Emily put the laptop back into hibernation mode and began to unplug it. "This can go straight to Kevin," she said. "There may be things on here that can point to where exactly Mrs. Keeley is."

"You know, the hotel room could have been booked as a rouse," Reid said. "She could be staying with someone else down there. What do we know about her?"

"That she's a widower, a strict Christian, and has very pro-life beliefs. She has no children, and is fifty-four. She would have struggled to have taken the child out of his room. If it is Keeley who's responsible for this, she must have had an accomplice," Emily said, following Reid out of the room and down the stairs. She could see the paintings clearly now; they were originals by a local artist, who was becoming more popular. Collectively, they would be worth more than her annual salary.

She explained to the rest of the team what she'd seen on the laptop. The warrant covered them taking any objects that were pertinent to the investigation back to Quantico, where it would be logged officially. By the looks of things, it was the only object they would be taking with them.

"There must be another reason for Jennifer Keeley to be away," Rossi said. "I know people can keep things hidden incredibly well, but there's absolutely nothing here that ties her to Alfie Fletcher."

"If she sent those letters, there must be something somewhere," Hotch said. "But now is not the time to look. Alfie isn't being held here. The locals can secure the premises, and one of us will be back first thing. I think we should head back to Quantico and then call it a night. We need sleep."

Emily suddenly saw how tired they all looked. Reid's eyes were darker than usual; Morgan looked his age; JJ's skin was sallow and drawn. It was only seven o'clock, and they'd all been known to work much later when in the midst of a case, or even when there was paper work to catch up on, but it felt much later, as if this day had lasted a week. "Let's hope there are no night time adventures for any of us tonight," she said, heading for the door.

"Just a whisky and some painkillers for me," Rossi said, immediately behind her.

"Oh, I don't know," she heard Morgan. "I have a lady on call who I'm sure could provide young Spencer here with a bit of fun, maybe help him with some remedial exercises to improve his recovery rate..."

She walked quickly. Home could not be close enough.

"Beer?"

Rossi watched Reid tentatively take the bottle Morgan was holding out to him. "Thanks, Derek."

"Rossi? I have a bottle of scotch, but I'm not a scotch drinker so I don't know how good it is."

A knee clicked slightly as he stood up from the couch. "I'll take a look," he said, following Morgan back into the kitchen. A cabinet was open, its contents on display. A bottle of single malt, eighteen year old Glenfiddich stood out immediately, and Rossi gave a shallow nod. "That's not a bad bottle you have there. Was it a gift?"

Morgan nodded. "From a couple of years ago. I did some odd jobs for a lady who lives a few doors down and she bought me that as a thank you. She was in her seventies, Rossi, so no jokes, please."

Rossi nodded, taking the bottle out of the cabinet. "She had good taste," he said, unscrewing the cap. Morgan passed him a small glass that would serve the purpose. He poured a couple of fingers into it, enough for the night. "Hopefully, we'll not impose on you for too long."

Morgan rested his head against the cabinets. "I can't see anything being solved overnight. I mean, we have no clue who this person could be. Even if we can narrow it down to someone who works at the Bureau, there are a couple of thousand people in Quantico alone, and profiling can only take us so far."

"That's true. And in all reality, Derek, we're waiting for another attack or piece of correspondence to give us more information. In the meantime, Hotch is going to go over every aspect of the past few years to see if he can put a finger on someone who may have reason to want to attack the team," Rossi said, swirling the amber liquid round in the glass. "Anyway, let's try and switch off for the night and come back in the morning with a fresh mind. Besides, we need to make sure the kid is handling his beer alright."

"I heard that."

Rossi chuckled at Reid's indignation. It wasn't fair, he knew. Reid wasn't a kid, not in the true sense of the word, but as the youngest member of the team, and the most different, he came in line for a lot of flack. "Maybe we should add some Sprite to it."

"Hey!"

Rossi followed Morgan back into the lounge, where Reid was seated on one of the sofas, reading a book in French on something obscure.

"Any preferences for take-out?" Morgan said. "I know Hotch had ideas about us getting something to eat at work, but that fell through in style."

Reid rested the book on his lap. "I'm glad we didn't hang around. I have a feeling we'll be doing enough of that during the next few days. And as for preferences, Derek, there's a really good Turkish restaurant not far from here that does take-out. I tutor their son occasionally, so if I call and order, they'll deliver it for us as well."

Rossi caught Morgan's eye and nodded. "Sounds good. Shall we let boy wonder order?"

"When will my age cease to be an issue?" Reid said, almost muttering.

Rossi laughed, feeling the scotch warm his throat as it trickled down. He wanted to give Jolene a call, to see how she and her sister were doing. Detective Winters was well on the way to recovery now, although still in hospital. He had been hoping to get over to Calverville Point in the time they were meant to be taking off, but obviously it hadn't happened. As soon as both these cases were wrapped up, he'd be taking at least two weeks leave.

"Okay, I'll order. They do a good mixed grill, stuffed vegetables and a chicken casserole. They'll probably send some hummus and lentil balls too," Reid said, trying to get his cell out of his pocket without moving off the sofa.

"What the hell are lentil balls, Reid?" Morgan asked, looking worried, his brow creased with a frown.

Reid looked up, his delight in explaining anything to anyone quite obvious. "They're exactly what they say, and they're really quite tasty. Pulses are good for your..."

"Hey, don't tell me about what's good to eat, else that third bedroom will suddenly become unavailable and you'll be spending the night where you are now," Morgan said, the warning note in his tone sharp.

"Derek, Spencer," Rossi said, sitting down. "Let's just order the food and then we can assess it. Tomorrow we'll try something different."

Then it seemed to hit them; that tomorrow they would all still be staying under the same roof, with little privacy or space. "You know," Rossi said, understanding the feelings the other two were experiencing. "It may be that if we haven't come any closer to finding out who's behind this in two or three days, we'd be better moving into a hotel. The other option's the dorms at Quantico, but I'm not sure that would be safer."

Morgan sat down on the large leather lazy-boy chair. "Let's see how we go. However, as much as I love you both, especially you Reid with your fragrant feet, being cooped up together for more than a couple of nights in this apartment is not my idea of fun."

Reid shot Morgan a glare that suggested a new way of dying was being invented before leaving the room to call the restaurant. They heard him speaking what must have been Turkish at first, followed by a laugh, and then a return to English. Morgan looked bemused, switching on the overly large television on as a distraction.

"You have any more theories about Alfie Fletcher, Rossi?" Morgan asked as he channel hopped. "We still have no idea whether this Jennifer Keeley is involved or not, which means we have virtually nothing concrete to go on. I can't believe the parents have made such a mess of this."

Rossi took another sip, trying to make the one glass last all night. "I'm inclined to think that Alfie's disappearance is linked with that of the other three children," he said, with some caution. "I don't see a middle aged woman going to the extremes of taking a child, unless we find something in her background that suggests a breakdown of sorts. Lynch is still working on it, I believe. He and Penelope took several thousand dollars worth of equipment back to JJ's. I hope Will's got good home insurance."

"Right, guys," Reid said, entering the room. "Food will be on its way shortly. What is that you're watching, Derek?" His attention was drawn to the soap opera currently on the TV. Rossi believed it to be The Young and the Restless, a rerun from some years back.

He downed the rest of the scotch and stood up. There was no way one glass was going to get him through an evening of this.

"We are going to do something else this evening other than work, aren't we?"

Garcia looked over the tops of her spectacle rims at Kevin Lynch, and shot him a look that was proven at silencing him. "We need to get ahead on the research," she said. "You'll thank me for it tomorrow."

He inhaled deeply. "I'm sure I will, although I think JJ would like us to have dinner with them at some point, and you know, maybe pretend that things are almost normal."

This time she turned her head away from her laptop and gave him the full power of her wrath via her eyes. "Mr. Lynch, unless you want to be thought of as incompetent by none other than the legend that is David Rossi, I suggest you carry on your search for information on Jennifer Keeley."

He lowered his laptop screen slightly and she received a return of glare. "In case you don't remember, light of my life, David Rossi does not scare me. However, I have found out quite a bit already on Mrs. Keeley, that I'm sure will be of interest to your team. Shall I send it to Rossi?"

"No, Reid," she said, typing frantically. She was trying to check Emily's personal email account, but was being blocked by something. "He'll check his handheld more frequently."

"What's the matter, Pen?" Kevin had stood up, and was walking round the table. "Oh."

"Indeed," she said, the same message coming up again. "'The username or password you entered is incorrect,'" she read it out loud, trying to process what it meant. "Whoever it is has accessed our personal email as well, and that would take more than your average bear."

"Have you tried sending an email to the account, to see if it's still there?" Kevin

"Yes, and it bounced." Garcia

"You set those accounts up, didn't you?" Kevin said. "Emily wanted an email address she could give to her mom and dad that wasn't an FBI one, so you..."

"You are indeed correct, Kevin," she said, regretting snapping almost immediately. She shook her head, looking away from the computer. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little spooked by what this guy has managed to do. That email account was secure, and what's more, I'm pretty sure it's not been made public. It's never given as a means to contact Emily – it's one she uses for online shopping, , that sort of thing." She sank back into the chair. "I need to check everyone's accounts. There's a good chance whoever this is has hacked into all of them, which means he'll know a great deal more about us than any of us suspected."

"Is there any chance Emily closed the account herself?" Kevin said. "Or that this is a server issue?"

Garcia shook her head. "She would have asked me to close it, and no, there's no sign of it being another issue." She looked up at him, and felt relieved when he put a hand on her shoulder, two fingers playing with a lock of pink hair that had dropped out of her bun. "I'm scared," she said, keeping her voice low so JJ wouldn't hear her. "My team – they're already burnt out. Look at how Jayje is, my kitten. She's at the point of breaking down. And Hotch – he's not just carrying the weight of the world there, he's got the whole solar system. And now we've got someone who's trying to hurt them, and who knows way too much about them." She let out a pained sigh. "When will this stop?"

"We don't know. We just need to do whatever we can to make it as soon as possible," Kevin said, his tone matter of fact and soothing. "You know that everyone is safe right now. Let Emily know what's happened. She may want to contact her mother and anyone else she's been emailing through that address and warn them it's been hijacked. Then you need to come and eat, and spend some time with your godson, and try help make JJ smile."

She gave him a weak nod. "I shall do that, my knight in shining armour."

He shook his head. "No, my fluorescent princess, your knight in a Bermuda shirt. Metal irritates my skin."

Emily sank back into her sofa, wondering whether or not to feel weird about Hotch making coffee in her kitchen. She figured she was too tired to feel much besides relief that someone else was making her a drink. Since she'd moved to Virginia, she hadn't had a night after work when she hadn't come home, made her own dinner, sat down by herself and watched something mindless on TV. There had been the nights when they had gone out after work, or she had met up with the few friends she had the area, even the rare date, but there hadn't been this.

"That smells good," she said, turning around and seeing Hotch bringing in the mugs on a tray.

"It's the coffee you bought, Emily," he said, a faded t-shirt tight enough around the top of his arms to draw her attention.

"True," she said. "But it always smells and tastes nicer when someone else makes it."

He gave a half-smile, putting the tray down on the low coffee table and then sitting next to her, resting his head back and looking up at the ceiling. "I'll let you know after you've made the next pot," he said, causing her to smile.

"My coffee is nothing to write home about," she said. "I used to make it badly on purpose so my mother would stop asking me to do it. Then it just became how I made it."

"I wondered how you always got out of making coffee on slow days," he said. "Morgan and Reid are always the ones in the kitchen."

She laughed, her eyes dancing. Some things, Hotch just wasn't privy to. "My poor coffee making skills were discovered fairly quickly, but have you never notcied that the kitchen doorway looks out over Autumn Sheen's desk?"

Hotch looked at her with interest. "So that's why Derek's coffee dramatically improved. He was admiring the view."

Emily nodded, smiling. It was moments like these where she felt strangely comfortable. She still couldn't quite believe that this was happening, that they had gone from colleagues to something more in a matter of weeks, and it didn't feel wrong. "Then he found out that she was seeing Lisa Butler from personnel, so he backed off, encouraging Reid to make a move instead."

Hotch shook his head, the half-smile now replaced with a full one. "Poor Reid."

"Sometimes it's poor Reid. A lot of the time he just doesn't think," Emily said. "And he gets his own back." She reached over and picked up one of the mugs from the tray. "How you feeling after today?"

She wasn't sure whether they should continue with discussing the cases, or try and give themselves a break. Part of her wanted to try to forget for a few hours, to switch off and simply relax and recharge, but the other, driven aspect of her character wanted to pursue the cases further.

"I don't know. I guess I've put what I feel on hold," he said, picking up the other mug. "I'm apprehensive about what tomorrow will bring, and I'm afraid we'll waste more time on the Alfie Fletcher case by chasing a red herring. But other than that, I think I just want to sleep."

Emily sipped at her coffee, eventually putting it back on the table. "Turn your back to me," she said. He did as he was told, which surprised her. She placed her hands on the back of his neck and sought out a pressure point, using fingertips to try to sooth taut muscles. She was no masseuse, being a little on the heavy handed side and never graceful in movement anyway, but the intention was there.

Hotch manoeuvred himself so that she was now straddling him, with his back to her. His right hand was moving up her leg, pushing up the lounge pants she had pulled out of a cupboard. She moved her hands up into his hair, then to his temples. "I'm not the best at this," she said, an awkward laugh falling out with the words.

"Really?" he said, sounding half asleep. "It doesn't feel that way right now, although I think we should go to bed as I really don't want to sleep on your couch."

She moved her hands away, sitting up straight. "I guess bed would be a good idea," she said. "Hopefully we won't be woken tonight. I think I've had all the disturbing news I can take for one day." She referred to Garcia's phone call an hour ago, while they had been eating dinner. She'd then spent a good half hour letting certain people know that her personal email account had been hijacked. The only person she hadn't heard back from was Sophie, and she hoped that was because she was too busy with her new boyfriend.

"And I really hope you haven't just tempted fate by saying that," Hotch said, putting the mugs back on the tray. "You go get ready for bed – I'll get you a drink that'll help you sleep."

She watched him leave the room, heading back into the kitchen, and found herself coping with an odd, unfamiliar feeling. Standing with the support of the couch, she made her way to the bathroom and brushed her teeth, then ridded herself of the remains of any make-up.

Hotch entered the bedroom just after her, putting down a glass of something on her bedside table, then sitting down on the bed with his. "Warm milk with honey and cinnamon," he said quietly, watching her take off the pants and baggy sweater she'd been wearing.

She felt slightly self-conscious under his gaze, and paused after pulling on a nightdress over her bra.

He gained a little colour in his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was staring." Turning away, he pulled off his t-shirt and sweat pants, and pulled back the comforter. "The day was easier knowing I'd be with you tonight." His words were barely audible, and he didn't look at her as he said them.

Emily undid her bra from underneath her nightdress and got into the bed next to him. She switched off the overhead light, and picked up the hot drink he'd made. It was sweet, but soothing, like something her mother might have prepared after an emotional day.

Hotch's glass was already nearly empty, his eyes half closed. "I'm glad you're here," she said as he slid down the bed, switching off his light with an outstretched arm. He half smiled; sleep beginning to touch his face with her gentle fingers.

Emily finished the drink and turned the room into darkness, curling into him and sharing his warmth. His soft breathing sounded like a lullaby as she followed him into sleep's arms.

Please review, folks!

Sarah x