Thank you for the reviews. This story is currently averaging less reviews per chapter than Humanity did, which does concern me, so every review is very gratefully read!

Thank you to Chiroho for betaing the last two (and all!) chapters. He has a rather jolly one shot focusing on Hotch and Prentiss that is definitely worth a read!

Next update will be Sunday, then Tuesday and Thursday as usual.

Where the Blue of the Night

"Expect the best, plan for the worst, and prepare to be surprised."

- Denis Waitley

Chapter Sixteen

November 6th

Martha Moore heard the sound of church bells ringing in the distance and gave a soft smile as she applied her lipstick. It had always seemed a bit of a contradiction, putting lipstick on to go to church; almost a sin in some ways because going there shouldn't make you concerned about how you looked. However, Martha justified the make-up by saying she wanted to look her best when going inside God's house, a statement which made John laugh.

He laughed as he saw her check her reflection in the mirror. He was sitting at the breakfast bar, eating a bowl of cereal. When she returned, she would cook them a full Sunday breakfast; pancakes, waffles, French toast – the works. It would see them right through till the fish he was going to cook for them that evening.

"I swear you only go to that place for the gossip," he said, smiling up at her. "You just want to find out what new outfit Belinda Carr's wearing, and if Sherry Baker's left her husband yet."

"That's not entirely true," she said, knowing it was something she was looking forward to finding out. "I never miss church, and you know I go for the right reasons."

He nodded, putting his spoon down. "Are you going to walk?"

"It's a lovely day," she said. "I know it's cold, but it's one of those days it'd be a shame to miss by sitting in a car. I'll be back about noon, maybe a little later if I stay for a coffee in the church hall. I'll cook breakfast then."

He shook his head. "No need. Phone me when you're leaving and I'll have it ready for you. You haven't had anything yet this morning, so you'll be hungry when you get back. Take an apple to eat on the way." He passed her the largest apple in the bowl and stood up, picking up his crockery. "I'll give the kitchen a good clean while you're out too."

"Thank you," Martha said, the warm feeling inside that she was becoming used to starting to glow again. She still wasn't sure how she had become this lucky. "Have a nice morning." She leant over and kissed his cheek, finding it smooth as if he had just shaved.

She left the house and walked briskly down the road towards Dorothy Martin's house. Dorothy was in her eighties and as frail as china, with a mind that wasn't frail at all. She had home help in twice daily, but struggled some weeks to get to church. Martha would drive her there on occasion, but having spoken to her yesterday, Dorothy wasn't feeling well enough to attend today.

The house sounded empty as she knocked, as if no one was in. Martha knocked again, a little louder, but still no answer.

"Mrs Moore?" a voice called out of the window next door.

Martha looked up and saw Dorothy's neighbour. "Hi, Patty. Is Dorothy okay?"

"She was taken to hospital yesterday. I was going to come round and tell you later. She had a fall just before the nurse came. She was pretty shaken up," Patty said, her Bronx accent irritating Martha as it always did.

"Which hospital was she taken to?"

"St Louis'," Patty called back. "I'm going to visit her later. I'll let you know how she is."

Martha nodded. "Thank you. Be sure to give her my love." And she turned around, continuing the brisk walk to her destination.

Reid had the same murky feeling he got when he'd had too much beer the night before. He rarely drank enough to have a hangover, preferring to be clear headed the following day; but the combination of lack of sleep, a dull pain from his wounds from Utah, and the beginnings of the emotional fallout of what was going on around them, had caused him to relate his current cloudy head to the morning after a night out with Rossi. Something that had only happened twice, and the second occasion was never spoken of.

He glanced over at Rossi who was sipping coffee and flicking through Boyd's car magazine. They were heading to Cale Green Park to canvas regular patrons about other people that went there. Of course, it was a double-edged sword. Every time they spoke to someone they were carrying out an evaluation of their own, analysing behaviour.

The weather was pleasant for early November. It was a crisp day, cold but bright. The clouds that had covered the sky during the night had lifted, leaving a glorious blue instead; the perfect day for a stroll in a park.

"You ready to head off, Rossi?" Reid said, noticing that Rossi had finished his coffee. He'd taken his average amount of time to drink it, the slowest being just over twenty minutes, the quickest less than two. It was a characteristic Reid pinned a lot on to deduce someone's mood. Emily could take almost an hour to drink a mug of coffee when she wasn't stressed and was in a good mood, yet she had been known to down one straight from the pot when Morgan was riling her. Morgan tended to consume his slowly at first, taking fifteen or twenty minutes to drink half or slightly less, before emptying the mug in one. Reid had tried to analyse Hotch's coffee drinking habits, but had realised that Hotch was onto his unauthorised analysis, and had therefore glared at Reid and drank his coffee differently each time he'd noticed Reid watching.

"I guess," Rossi said. "Although it is Sunday. I don't suppose a lot of folks will be there until later this morning." He stood up and took the mug over to the sink, tipping out the remainder and putting it in the dishwasher. "Still, it'll get us out of here for a couple of hours."

Reid stretched, catching an empty vase on the window ledge and making it rock precariously. "Do we have to pay for damages while we're staying here?"

"I might be a good idea if we didn't find out," Rossi said, giving Reid a look that suggested he was getting a little off track.

Reid nodded, picking up his coat off the back of his chair and tripping over one of JJ's shoes. They'd discovered that JJ was not as conscientious about tidying away her footwear as she was her files, and already Hotch and Will had fallen over one of her boots. "How many shoes does she have?" Reid said, not expecting a response from Rossi other than another of his looks.

Instead Rossi raised his eyebrows. "Who knows? My second wife had over a hundred and forty pairs until we got divorced."

Reid looked at him puzzled. "She spend the alimony on more or something?"

"No," Rossi said. "I received half of them. Well, she was going for half of everything of mine, so why not?"

Reid laughed, then frowned, recalling a conversation from when Rossi had first rejoined the bureau. "Hang on, wasn't your second wife the heiress?"

"Yes. She had money, but brains had evaded her when it came to finance." He picked up the keys to one of the cars. Hotch had briefly gone through a few safety precautions with them an hour or so ago, just after Agent Boyd had returned and issued them with new, non-FBI cell phones. They were basic models, only for making and receiving calls, so Garcia or Kevin sending information to them would no longer be an option. "I'll drive. I know a quick route from here."

Reid followed him out to the car, pulling his thick overcoat around him. A sharp wind was blowing cold enough to chill the bone.

Hotch watched Reid and Rossi leave, and made the decision then that Reid's coat would have to be quietly disposed of. He was pretty sure it dated back to the 1950's, and had belonged to someone who considered themselves to be a private eye from some Film Noir. He heard the sound of the car engine start up a little tentatively, the coldness of the previous night not agreeing with the vehicle's disposition. It was a concern that they were without the equipment they were used to and a worry that some lines of communication were down. Hotch didn't consider himself to be irrational, but given the list of things he could write to worry about at present, he was beginning to wonder if he was being too cautious.

The car soon became concealed as it wove through the trees. In a few minutes Emily and Morgan would head out also, and then Agent Rose and Agent Boyd would begin the journey to Washington to speak with two members of their team who would investigate the people who had access to the phone numbers.

He'd be left with JJ and Will, and Kevin and Garcia, although the latter two would be holed up in the office they had commandeered. Hotch thought about JJ for a moment and the persona she presented. She looked like she should be a push over; slender, blonde and pretty, she lacked the natural tenacity that Emily exuded, yet she had one of the toughest jobs in dealing with the media and general public, as well as prioritising the cases that they worked on. He'd already concluded that himself and JJ were the most likely targets for a stalker, although they couldn't take that as gospel.

There was the possibility that their UnSub was someone who felt they had been slighted when dealing with the team, and this was their revenge, or punishment. Or there was also the chance it was someone who had developed an attraction to one of the team's members and perceived others as standing in their way of pursuing their desire. The possibilities were almost endless, and until they had more evidence, it would be difficult to narrow them down. They only had certain parameters to work with, and they were ones that weren't narrowing down any potential lists.

He returned to his computer, going through recent psych evaluations on employees based at Quantico that fitted in with other criteria. He recognised most names; Tim Lowth, Jordan Cummins, Lewis Hart, Troy Schonfield, Kiefer Hyman, James Smithson. Not all were agents, but then, Hotch thought it more likely to be someone who wasn't an agent, although Boyd thought differently.

Agent Boyd was struggling. His ability to think clearly was impeded by the death of Mansfield and Hotch had real concerns about his ability to work on this case. But they were in a catch 22 situation; if he suggested to Strauss that Boyd should be placed on emergency leave, then they would have yet another person to bring up to speed on the investigations and another person in the loop. The solution was to keep Boyd on a tight leash, making sure he couldn't act rashly, and Hotch was pretty sure he could manage that for the moment, at least.

He read through the first psych eval. He'd searched first for agents and civilians who had been investigated for misuse of a firearm, and Troy Schonfield had come up. He was thirty-six, worked in IT and recently divorced. He carried a weapon and had done the weapons training at Quantico when he'd first joined up, and then taken the refresher course when it was due, but had been reprimanded for shooting at a stray dog. He'd also spent two years attached to the bomb disposal unit back in Michigan, before moving to Quantico four years ago. He checked a lot of boxes, especially the one that suggested recent crisis. His divorce had hit him hard, and he'd taken several weeks off with stress. His psych eval suggested that he was suffering from a bi-polar disorder, and was prone to severe mood swings. He'd turned down the offered medication.

The rest were similar. There was nothing to distinguish them from one another, and by the time Emily and Morgan had left, Hotch was feeling more frustrated than ever. They had to narrow down the suspect pool somehow, and preferably without another event.

He picked up the file that contained the last letter that had been sent, detailing Morgan's recent purchases. Their UnSub was thorough, meticulous with detail, and used to noticing the minutiae. No fact was unimportant, and although anyone with an obsession would notice fine details, this person had missed nothing according to Morgan, which told of a practised eye. It was also someone who could predict what would happen in situations like this. They had known the phones would be swapped, they knew protocol, and they would now know that communication was weaker. It was a clever plan, to weaken them slowly, and Hotch wondered what the motivation behind it was.

An unfamiliar ring echoed around the room and it took him a few seconds to realise that it was his new cell. He answered it cautiously, half expecting it to be the UnSub as the number wasn't recognised.

"Hotchner," he said, his heart rate rising.

"It's Strauss. We've had another letter. I'm about to fax it to you."

"How was it delivered?"

"To my home," she said, sounding annoyed rather than anxious or upset. "I'm staying elsewhere for the next few days, which is most inconvenient. Is the team okay where you are?"

"They're fine," Hotch said, looking to where the fax machine had been plugged in. It was beginning to come to life. "Everything's been impeccably organised."

"Good," Strauss said. "And you're having them check in regularly when they're out?"

"As much as they can without causing disruption." He took the fax from the machine and began to scan it.

"Then I'll leave you to it, Agent Hotchner. I expect to hear from you by the end of the day."

His response was non-committal, too concerned with what was written in the letter. Without thought, he dialled Emily, his heart almost palpating out of his chest when there was no answer.

Thanks for reading – please do review!

Sarah x