Thank you for the reviews for the previous chapter. I hope everyone is still enjoying? This week is the last manic week of school, although it's still three weeks till the summer break. Fingers crossed I'll update more than three times next week, and certainly early on in the weekend.

This chapter hasn't been beta'd as I've only just finished and wanted to post it quick!

Hope you like, and please do review – sorry I haven't replied to reviews yet. I'll try to ASAP.

Where the Blue of the Night

"The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over the harbour
and city on silent haunches and then moves on."

- Carl Sandburg

Chapter Twenty Six

Six years previously...

He first saw her when he was on his way to the kitchen, carrying a tray full of used coffee mugs that were in desperate need of washing. The other members of his team never seemed to clear up after themselves, leaving mugs and plates to fester in the strangest of places until there was enough mould on them to cultivate penicillin. He couldn't abide it, being a person who liked things to be clean and tidy, and he'd taken the opportunity while the rest were in a meeting to pick up the dirty pots and take them to the kitchen at least.

And that was when he saw her.

He'd never found blondes attractive in the past, preferring dark hair, or even red. But there was something about her that captivated him. She lacked the natural grace that women who were as beautiful as her generally had; there was something awkward about her movements, something she about the way she gave him a small smile. Yet she had a confident air about her that seemed born from an inner conviction that had blossomed over time. It was something he found refreshing; the lack of arrogance that too many of the women at the Bureau seemed to possess.

"Do you need a hand?" she said, offering a smile and a look directed at the overcrowded tray.

"No...no – I'm fine," he said, avoiding her eyes and feeling his cheeks burn, as if she could read his thoughts.

"I'm on the way to the kitchen myself," she said. "Trying to get my bearings around here."

"Y...you've just started?" he said, managing to look up as she took two of the mugs from the tray that were balancing precariously at the edge.

She made a noise of disgust as she looked at the now solid contents of the mugs. "I started yesterday. Media Liaison for the BAU. How about you?"

"Technical analyst for TAG – terrorist apprehension group. You like it so far?" he said, feeling a little less nervous at her friendliness.

She nodded. "Yeah, it's been really interesting. Only been a day though."

A set of rushed footfalls came towards them, and he saw Aaron Hotchner on his way.

"JJ," Agent Hotchner said. "I'd like you to take a look at this case." He glanced at Dan. "Excuse us."

She gave an apologetic smile and followed Agent Hotchner back down the corridor, leaving him stood there with a tray full of mugs.

November 8th

Sophie sat cross legged on the sofa, staring at the blank television. It didn't work. Sure, it played DVD's and there was even a VCR and a few old videos, but cable wasn't available or any other way of finding out what was going on in the outside world. There was no cell phone signal, and no way of logging on to the internet, not that she was surprised. Her laptop sat helpless on the rug covering the stone floor, plugged into the electricity supply just in case she somehow managed to pick up some form of signal to be able to send an email, trying to be optimistic.

Sophie had figured that he wasn't going to let her starve to death. The fridge and freezer were stocked with food that was better than what she had at home sometimes, and the kitchen was basic, but had what she would need to survive for any length of time. The bed had been comfortable enough for her to eventually fall asleep in, although she had spent the first half of the night wondering if he was going to come down to the basement.

That had been the only time she'd allowed herself to cry; the thought of what he might do. So she'd gone around the rooms and collected what weapons she could, noticing that he hadn't removed any of the kitchen knives from the drawers.

Then she'd grasped the fact that he probably wasn't going to be coming back down to see her at all, hence the fact that it was so well stocked. This brought relief as well as fear.

And now, at what she figured was about seven-thirty am, she was frustrated. She knew this was something to do with the team, with Emily – more specifically with Agent Jareau. She also knew now that he'd somehow hijacked Emily's email and that had been how he'd got in touch with her, and set up this, well, kidnapping, she supposed.

Sophie stood up. She wasn't one to spend much time being morose, having never seen the point. If you were down or in a funk about something, then you had to act to sort it out, not sit around sulking. She knew that eventually Emily would realise something was amiss, having not heard from Sophie one way or another for nearly a week. When they did found her, and Sophie was certain it would be when and not if, she could be useful to them by knowing more about this man, having something to say about him. So she began to hunt, hunt around the rooms, looking for information about him in the books that he had kept, in the movies. Knowledge was power, just as much as the carving knife she was keeping a tight hold of. Just in case.

Emily had chosen to ride with Rossi and Agent Boyd instead of Reid, JJ and Hotch. She'd felt a wrench when Rossi had found her that morning, had tapped on her door making her think that maybe, just maybe, Hotch had changed his mind.

But he hadn't, and now he was avoiding her. It was Rossi who told her about the letter, not Hotch. Rossi who sat down on the edge of her bed and made her go through every incident she could recall that could have pissed someone off – and there were a few, but of course none of them stood out.

Her head was aching this morning. Whether it was because of the injury, or because of what was going on in general, she wasn't sure, but it seemed as if a rather large drummer boy was practising with all his might inside her skull. She glanced out of the window at the passing scenery, trees she was already sick of seeing. She loved the countryside as much as the city, but would rather be there through choice.

"You okay, Emily?" Rossi said, breaking the silence that had consumed the atmosphere in the car. Boyd had said little since he had appeared in the kitchen earlier for coffee; his face drawn and tired.

"I'm fine," she said, noticing that her voice sounded the same as it usually did. "Tired, and I would really like to see the inside of my apartment some time soon."

"I think everyone feels a bit stir crazy. Hopefully this new letter will give us some forensics to work with," Rossi said, his optimism always functioning, whatever the weather.

There was the sound of movement from the backseat, and Emily glanced at Boyd in the mirror. He was scowling and looking distinctly fed up. "What's your take on all this, Boyd?" she said. She knew that he and Hotch were in regular discussions, but things had come to a standstill recently; Boyd seemingly becoming more insular and withdrawn.

"Have you thought that maybe this isn't about the BAU?" he said, and edge to his tone. "That attacking you is one way to get to my team?"

"If we consider that, then we have to look at the idea that this could be an attack on the FBI in general, but there is nothing so far in his communication, or his attacks that suggest this is anything less than a personal attack meant as revenge," Rossi said, unperturbed by Boyd's suggestion. "We have too big a list of potential suspects – all people who are on there as they fit the profile in some way – and we need something to narrow it down."

"I've looked at the list and through some of the files," Emily said. "There's no one who sticks out, and none of us can put our finger on a reason for the attacks."

"Because it's someone who has escalated something small. Someone with a paranoid personality type, and unfortunately, that can account for a good percentage of bureau workers," Rossi said. "Hotch has narrowed it down to males who aren't agents. It's someone who craves power, and thinks he's capable of wielding such power, but has been denied it in the past."

Emily saw Boyd shrug in the mirror. She could tell he wasn't buying this, and had his own suspicions, which was worrying. Hotch had spoke of the chance that Boyd would go rogue, would start on his own investigation without informing them or his own team, and Emily wondered if that had begun to happen. "And this is a way of him taking that power," she said. "Then does his really believe that we know why he's doing this, or are the taunts around us 'knowing what we've done' merely another way to show that control?"

"I suspect the former," Rossi said, slowing down as they reached lights. They weren't that far now from the Moores' house, just another ten minutes according to the satellite navigation system. "He has an overinflated ego and places himself falsely at the centre of everyone's focus. He believes he has been wronged on purpose, and by doing that, thinks that he is important enough for people to act against."

"He spoke directly against me in his letter this morning. He also knew about Hotch and I, which begs the question how? There has been no electronic communication about or from us, or phone conversations that he could have listened to. And we weren't back in the office long enough for any gossip to begin," Emily said, trying not to think of the fact that there was no reason for that gossip at that moment.

"It depends how closely he was listening," Rossi said. "In Utah, when Garcia moved your rooms. If he was watching what she was doing on line he would have seen that, and could quite easily have put two and two together. And I hate to suggest it, but could there have been the possibility of him hearing a conversation about you and Hotch between JJ and Garcia?"

Emily closed her eyes for a second and nodded. "Yeah," she said. "That could have definitely happened. He's been gathering up ammunition."

"And if he's been watching us closely for a while, he may well have noticed how you interact," Rossi said, turning right down a wide road with individually designed houses at either side.

Their conversation dwindled as they began to take in the area and what it suggested about the couple they were about to interview. There was money here. It was wrapped in the gardens, the cars and the furnishings that were on show in the windows. Nothing was ostentatious, and everything exuded a quiet sense of class.

"Nice," Emily said, her head has started to feel remotely normal now, the drummer boy having ceased his practise.

"How another half live," Rossi said, coming to a stop behind Hotch's car. A cop car was already there too, and Emily figured they would have two rather annoyed people on their hands when they entered the house.

"These people are still free to go and refuse to speak with us," Emily said. "We've nothing but circumstantial evidence on them and the profile. They can outright refuse to have us in their house."

Rossi nodded, killing the engine. "Then we keep them under surveillance until we have more. The case is out in the open now; we have the local PD looking into it so it can't be too long before we find something. But time is key here – there's every chance Alfie is still alive."

Emily nodded, feeling the light inside of her still burn with the knowledge that there could be one happy ending at least.

Morgan found it uncomfortable in the car, the seat only able to recline so far. He'd taken more knocks than he'd cared to admit, and he wondered how long it would take Hotch before he was placed on desk duty for a month.

He should have been on that at present, after what had happened in Utah.

As the car started, he thought about the previous week and what had happened. He was still unable to comprehend that he had been behind his actions. It felt almost as if it had been someone else there, not him.

A sudden change in speed jerked him back to the present and he glared at Agent Llewellyn. "Hey, man. You think we can go a bit slower?"

Llewellyn frowned, not taking his eyes off the road. "There's someone behind us," he said. "I saw them in the parking lot back at the hospital."

Morgan moved his head so he could see in the rear view mirror.

He recognised the car.