Thank you to Kim and Emma Berlin for the reviews, and to everyone else! This hasn't been beta'd as I'm running behind on myself as usual, but things are definitely quieter on the work front now, so I'll try and get an update up tomorrow (Monday) or Tuesday – that's if I'm persuaded to with an influx of reviews!

Enjoy!

Where the Blue of the Night

"Those who say that I will lose and am finished will have to run over my body to beat me."

- Said Aouita

Chapter Twenty Seven

Eighteen months ago...

The punch did not stop after one hit. The pain reverberated around his body, fracturing every bone, and making him crumble into the ground, no longer a man.

He'd heard the news by accident – of course, she wouldn't think to tell him personally. He'd been next to Agent Reid in the cafeteria queue, a single sandwich on his tray while Agent Reid's held four.

"You hungry, Reid?" Nancy Crawshaw said, one of the linguists from the oversees unit who was ahead of Reid in the queue.

Agent Reid looked slightly incredulous. "No – yes – but what I mean is that not all these are for me. Two of them are for JJ," he said, his eyes wide.

"Really?" Nancy said. "I don't know where she puts it. She always stays so slim." There was a touch of envy to her voice, a note that made him feel almost proud of his girl. He didn't know at this point. At this point she was still his, his JJ. His Jennifer.

"Actually, she's pregnant," Reid said, his excitement given away by the expression on his face rather than the tone of his voice. "And she's feeling hungry, so Garcia told me to go buy one of whatever they had."

It was then that his world fell down, that his body was broken and his heart gave up. He hadn't known, hadn't even realised that she had a boyfriend. For a second he wonder if someone had hurt her, and he could become the hero, taking her on as well as the baby. It wouldn't matter that the baby wasn't his; it was part of her and he would love it because of that.

"I take it Will's thrilled too then?"

It was the second blow. The father had a name. He had a part in JJ's life.

"Completely. He's resigned from his position in New Orleans and is moving up here."

Agent Reid's words blurred into a mess of reds, his vision swimming. He clutched onto the side of the counter, feeling the blood rushing out of his head.

"Hey, are you okay?" he heard Reid say.

He resisted the urge to hit him, realising that the disciplinary procedures that would follow would stop any chance of him weaving himself back into JJ's favour.

"I'm fine – just the start of migraine."

He abandoned the tray, walking away from the queue with the knowledge that this whole thing, this whole scandal, had one purpose.

To make his life a misery.

November 8th

"It's the same car."

"From the accident?" Agent Llewellyn said, his voice and demeanour calmer than Morgan would have expected of any agent.

"If you can call it that," Morgan said, keeping his eyes of the car behind them. A red Ford had pulled in between them, obscuring the view of the driver, but Morgan could still keep track.

"How sore you feeling?" Llewellyn said, almost as if he was asking how many sugars Morgan took in his coffee.

"I have a high pain threshold," Morgan said. The road they were on was wide, almost a highway, but they were now in the morning rush hour and given the probable unstable mind of their follower, they needed to assess their options carefully.

"I'm going to get us off this road onto some quieter ones. If we can next the next right, we'll be in Newton and the streets round there are like a rabbit warren. I should be able to lose him easily," Llewellyn said, beginning to accelerate and indicate right to change lanes.

Morgan nodded, gripping the arm rest. There was a shudder of nerves in him, pulling at his stomach, and he tried his best to ignore the feeling as Llewellyn turned right too quickly, swinging him to the side.

The red car passed by, and Morgan saw the driver clearly for the first time, his face hidden by the hood of his coat and a black scarf that masked his mouth.

"You okay?" Llewellyn said, still calm, so strangely calm.

"Fine," Morgan said, lying. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "I'll phone Hotch. Get someone round here with us."

Llewellyn nodded, concentrating on the quick turns he was now taking around tight bends. A cat scattered quickly across the road, almost using one of its nine lives, and Morgan held his breath as Llewellyn guided the car quickly between two other vehicles parked on a sharp bend.

By the time Hotch had answered, they were out of the residential area and on a narrow road, zipping through countryside. The car was well behind them, but they hadn't lost him, and Morgan's heart was now pounding into the top of his skull.

"Hotch," Morgan said. "He knew I was at the hospital. We're being followed."

"I need your location." Always matter of fact; never panicked. Morgan didn't know if that helped right now, if that soothed him or was making his pulse pound faster. He saw the miles per hour on the dash speed up.

Llewellyn gave their whereabouts, knowing the area well.

"We're trying to lose him," Morgan said. "Hotch..."

"We have your location, Morgan, and we're sending cars out to you now. Llewellyn knows the area well. We'll have you back at the safe house in no time at all," Hotch was saying. Morgan knew he was trying to be positive, that he understood what Morgan was feeling now, but Morgan knew too much. He knew how situations like this could end.

They were now travelling through a wooded area; the trees coming out of nowhere like a stampede of giants, seemingly moving towards them. Morgan could feel himself being forced back into his seat, such was the speed at which they were travelling.

Then there was a stench of rubber as the tyres struggled to grip the road when Llewellyn took a quick right that Morgan hadn't seen. Morgan felt as if his stomach was sitting on a rollercoaster, and as the car almost lifted off the ground when Llewellyn pulled it left onto a lane that surely was just for horses, Morgan lost his breakfast.

"I would have thought you'd have been used to driving like this, given Agent Rossi," Llewellyn said, the windows coming down to get rid of the acidic smell of vomit.

"No, man," Morgan said, thankful that they were now staying on a straight line, no car catching up to them yet. "Rossi is a little quick, but he couldn't have managed those bends."

Llewellyn was silent for a moment, seemingly ignoring what Morgan had just said. "He's not behind us."

"Really?" Morgan said, still feeling nauseous.

"If he'd sussed out the route we'd taken he should have turned onto this road about half a minute ago. Depending on how well he knows the area, I guess we've lost him."

Morgan closed his eyes, his stomach churning. "I'm hoping you know exactly where we are."

"Damn right I do," Llewellyn said, speeding up. "Autism Spectrum Conditions have their bonuses, you know."

Telling them was the only option, and for the next five minutes Hotch let the Moores sweat inside their house while he and the rest of his team waited outside for news on Morgan and the agent with him.

Cars from the nearest police department had been despatched immediately, but there was no estimating how long it would take them to find Morgan and Llewellyn. There was nothing else they could do besides wait for the outcome.

He'd found himself stood next to Emily, his usual place, and for a moment he was stricken by what he'd made happen in the past thirty-six hours. He wasn't a coward, never had been, but that was how he felt now.

"Shouldn't we go out there ourselves?" Reid said, agitated. "We're not that far away..."

"It's too far, Reid," Rossi said. "It's a twenty minute drive even with Emily at the wheel, and hopefully Morgan will be well on the way back to the safe house in less than ten minutes. We just got to wait this out."

Hotch felt his cell phone vibrate before he heard it ring. "Morgan," he said, answering it. He felt the silence around him stiffen.

"Hotch, we lost him. We're on route to the safe house, although we're detouring via a car rental place." Morgan sounded relieved.

"Good – it'll be as well to change what you're driving. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit."

Hotch almost smiled.

"We've given details of the car he was driving to the locals, and they have an APB out on it. It wasn't a bureau car. The plates have come back as a vehicle used in an armed robbery ten months ago that was reported stolen. I'd put money on it being found burnt out in the middle of nowhere within the next week."

"Derek, you need to make you're detour longer. Go to a cafe at least fifty miles from the safe house and make sure you're not being followed once you've changed cars. Llewellyn should have a credit card that's not traceable back to the Bureau or him personally – use that. Then once you're sure you're not being followed, change cars again before heading back," Hotch said. "This guy's smart; he knows we're hiding out somewhere, and he'll want to find out where it is. You need to watch your own back."

"Gotcha," Morgan said. "I'll call back later." He hung up and Hotch looked round at the rest of the team.

"He's safe. We need to leave here as quickly as possible, especially if the media get wind of this location," he said. So far they had been lucky, avoiding the usual hubbub of photographers and journalists and keeping Martha and John Moore's names from the press. But Hotch wasn't sure how long this would last. "Rossi and Reid, I'd like you to speak with John Moore. Take him somewhere like his work room. Emily and I will interview Martha Moore. Keep it informal, but by no means easy. Use whatever ways you can of getting them on edge." He'd though twice about working with Emily on this, but if he'd decided to put her with Rossi, he would have been letting their relationship interfere with their job. And they worked well together.

"Let's get in there then," Rossi said, beginning the walk to the house. Hotch followed, noticing the gardens which were remarkably neat and tidy, plants clearly placed in the best possible areas to get the sun and shade they needed.

"You okay with this?" he heard Emily say quietly as Rossi approached the door, a uniformed police officer visible through the glass panels.

He wondered why she'd asked as he was certain that he showed no outward sign of his inner turmoil. "Fine," he said. "I'll be happier when we're all back at the safe house, and more so when this case is over." His tone sounded cold even to him, and he wished then that he could take five minutes away from the situation and tell her what was going on, how he was really thinking, feeling.

The door opened, and an officer let them in, John Moore standing behind him, looking as annoyed as Hotch had expected.

"This is unacceptable! What do you people think you are doing, stopping us from leaving our home to do our jobs? We've done nothing wrong, are perfectly decent people and you're causing a scene – standing outside our home like that, drawing attention from all the neighbours..."

"Mr Moore..." JJ stepped forwards.

"...creating suspicions when..."

"Mr Moore..."

"...what will our neighbours think? My wife's school..."

"Mr Moore," she put a hand on his arm. "Please." Her voice was firm and this time he took notice. "We just need to ask some questions."

He pushed her hand away almost violently, then turned around and walked away, Rossi following him with Reid loitering behind, looking at the photographs on the wooden sideboard.

Hotch looked at the officer who had just joined them. "Can you take us to Martha Moore?" he said quietly.

The officer nodded, her tight expression telling of her difficult morning so far. "She's not very happy," she said. "I don't know how much you will get out of her."

They followed her up the stairs, the walls decorated with an old fashioned floral print and pictures of pastoral scenes. It was a house that seemed to have been decorated by a woman in her sixties or even seventies, yet Martha Moore was nowhere near that age.

"She's in here," the officer said, gesturing towards what was the master bedroom. Hotch looked to Emily to go in first. His presence would be aggravating, a gesture of conflict. Emily entering first would be pacifying; at least he hoped.

Martha Moore was sitting at the window, looking out over her garden. She didn't turn her head to acknowledge their presence, or give a single gesture to signify that she knew they were there.

Hotch stayed by the doorway, letting Emily enter fully, while the officer lingered behind him. he tried to be oblivious to the way her hair fell over her shoulders and the slimness of her waist, but gave up, pinching his lips together and thinking momentarily of all the words he knew he needed to say later, when they were alone.

"Mrs Moore?" Emily said. "I understand that you're angry at us being here, but we really need to ask you some questions."

There was no response.

"You know a boy has gone missing. It's been several days now and we're desperate to get him back to his mother." Emily didn't mention about the mother missing him, or the boy needing her. They knew, had worked out, that if Martha Moore was the person sending these letters, then she had no regard for the families, or the parents, probably deeming them unfit to have children.

But she didn't look away from the garden, didn't move an inch. Hotch could see the rise and fall of her back as she breathed, the slight moving only noticeable because of the stillness of the rest of her.

Emily didn't speak for a while, edging closer to the window instead. "Your garden is very beautiful," she said. "You must spend a lot of time in there with your husband."

Martha's stillness was beginning to concern Hotch. He was reminded of a coiled spring, waiting for that key moment before it unleashed its stored power, and he went into the room fully, nodding at the officer behind him to come in also.

"You walked passed Alfie's house on your way to the park. What was he like?" Emily said, her voice staying calm, her look focused on the garden.

Martha Moore turned around quickly. "Bitch," she said, almost whispered the word delicately. She froze again, looking at Emily, but Hotch wasn't sure if the insult was meant for her.

"Who do you mean?" Hotch said, but Martha's eyes did not come to him, instead they stayed on Emily, who was beginning to move away.

"You're stopping me from looking after my children," Martha said. "They need me. Can't this wait until after school?" She stood up, her back to the window now.

She was avoiding eye contact, looking quickly round the room, and he figured she was looking for an escape. "We can go through some questions quickly, Mrs Moore, then you can go back to your job."

It was a lie, but not one she knew. He had called the principal before leaving the safe house and advised him to suspend Martha Moore with pay while the investigation was going on.

"But I don't know anything," she said. "I'm terribly upset that Alfie may be sad and lonely, and I pray he'll be looked after soon, but there's nothing I can help you with."

He noticed her words; looked after instead of found. He knew what she meant – once they had gone and she felt safe, she would go to look after him.

"Hotch," JJ spoke from the door way.

Hotch turned around, sideways onto Martha so he could still watch her movements.

"We've found clothing that fits the description of what Alfie was wearing when he went missing," JJ said in hushed tones, almost mouthing the words.

Hotch nodded, turning back round fully, but now too far away to block Martha Moore from lunging at Emily and pushing her towards the window.