Yes, I disappeared! My other half began to complain that the only way he could communicate with me was via email, so I had to spend a bit of quality time with him! I'm off school for summer now, so plenty of 'me' time to get this story finished! Another ten or so chapters to go, so I hope you're still interested. If anyone would like a recap at the start of the next chapter than let me know, and I can refresh your memories! This is unbeta'd as once I'd written it I wanted to get it up ASAP.

Please enjoy, and review!

Where the Blue of the Night

"Ask yourself: 'Can I give more?' The answer is usually: 'Yes'."

- Paul Tergat

Chapter Twenty Nine

November 8th

The prelude to winter lasts an infinite number of days. There are the days when everything begins to bloom; showers of springtime when chicks hatch and snowdrops linger briefly in gardens. Does the countdown begin then? Or does it start during summer, when the heat suffocates and the sky wears an unbelievable shade of blue? Then there are the golden days; the days full of the richest tones of reds, oranges, browns. The dying days. The days that signify that winter is closer; that time is drawing to an end.

Rossi saw a man in the midst of those golden days, sat beside a coffee machine with his head in his hands. He'd hit a blank wall of nothingness, where any future spring was buried behind a winter that promised coldness and ice. John Moore looked younger than his age, and younger still than his wife. His hair had not yet been turned grey, and it was still thick and full. Age had been kind to him, so far, although Rossi knew that he would grow much older in the next few days, or even hours, while his life came under scrutiny and the woman he thought he knew and loved was metaphorically dissected.

"Agent Rossi," Moore looked up as Rossi drew closer. His voice was cold, and a younger agent may have felt uncomfortable. Rossi didn't though. He'd passed that stage some time ago.

"Mr Moore. How is your wife?" Rossi said, sitting down next to him.

Moore shrugged. "She doesn't want to see anyone. She told the nurse she feels guilty about Alfie going missing, that she should have noticed someone was watching him," he said, rubbing his fact with his hands. "Martha adores kids, Agent Rossi. She comes home spent some days because of something bad that's happened to a kid at her school, and she beats herself for not doing something sooner. It's then that she's inconsolable – like now. Only I've never seen her this bad." He stared at the blank wall in front of them. "You shouldn't have come to us. She would have never have ended up here if you hadn't come."

Rossi said nothing, knowing there was no point in disagreeing. Now wasn't the time to pick a fight. "Do you have children, Mr Moore?" he said, keeping a warmth to his tone that he wasn't sure he felt.

John Moore shook his head, looking at the floor but seeing nothing. "No. My first wife did. She had two girls from her first marriage, and that was enough for her. To be honest, I never felt the need to have children. I like kids, and I liked being a stepdad, but that was where it stopped, I guess."

"You no longer see your step kids?" Rossi said. To Moore, this would sound like a general conversation, no ulterior motive lying underneath. To Rossi, this was a way to extract what could be crucial information, only Moore wouldn't see that; to all intents and purposes, he was a nice guy, and probably innocent in all this. Probably.

"No," Moore said, still looking at the floor. A nurse walked passed, glancing briefly in their direction. "The split between myself and Rochelle was not pleasant. She made several accusations against me, and refused to let me see the girls. I decided I wanted a clean break, but left my contact details with a mutual friend to pass onto the girls should they ever mention wanting to get in touch with me. They never have."

Rossi nodded, watching the nurse go into one of the wards off the corridor. As soon as he could, he would have Garcia check on the background of the step daughters and on the allegations that had been made. "Shall we go get a coffee?" Rossi said, the sounds of someone shouting making the atmosphere more uncomfortable than it already was. "I'll have the nurses contact me when your wife wishes to speak to you. She may just need a little time alone to gather her thoughts."

Moore nodded as if in some sort of daze and stood up, still not making eye contact. He wasn't an intelligent man; he didn't seem to be able to think more than a few minutes ahead, and appeared to have no concept of what was really happening to his wife, and to him. Yet he had a nature somewhat like a child, that was very trusting and innocent in many ways. Rossi wanted to know about his education, whether there had been any special needs there, or if he had ever even graduated high school. He knew that Martha Moore's first marriage had ended badly – would she have been attracted to John Moore because of his child-like personality, or was there something more sinister than that, a meeting of like minds, and John Moore was an excellent manipulator.

The nurse at the reception desk took Rossi's contact details and assured him and Moore that she would contact them if Martha requested her husband. She also informed them that the police officer that had been present in the bedroom when Martha Moore had attacked Prentiss was currently in the room with her, something that seemed to settle John Moore somewhat, and he followed Rossi quite calmly to the cafeteria provided by the hospital for visitors and its staff.

Moore offered to get the coffees, putting two pieces of pie on the tray that Rossi knew would be nowhere near as good as Jolene's, and he felt a pang at not having managed to get to see her or Detective Winters yet. They had only the briefest idea about what was going on; knowing only that the BAU team were in a safe house and communication was on a minimal level. It was safer that way; there was nothing to say that their UnSub wouldn't attempt to hurt those close to them.

He pushed those thoughts from his mind as Moore sat opposite him, pushing the tray over to offer the pie. "It's blackberry," he said. "Doubt it's as good as Martha's, but for some reason I thought I might enjoy it."

Rossi nodded, noting the peculiarity of the desire. John Moore certainly wasn't an over eater. Some people would turn to food in times of stress, but Moore didn't profile that way – he wouldn't know how to deal with it and would more likely become frustrated and either shout out or be upset. "Thank you," Rossi said, keeping his face a blank page. "I was beginning to feel peckish. With this job, you never know when you'll get the chance to eat."

Moore nodded, managing a smile that seemed a little too broad. "The coffee seems good, too," he said. "Better than what was coming out of that machine. You think Martha will be okay – that these allegations against her will be dropped? She doesn't know anything – she just likes kids. That's why she reacted like that. She's been beside herself about what happened to the boy."

"You know, we have to have reasonable suspicions about someone to do what we've done today, Mr Moore. We couldn't have gone into your house and asked you those questions if we just thought you might be witnesses," Rossi said, unsure as to whether John Moore really did believe they just thought the FBI were there to see if he and his wife could help or that he was establishing some elaborate ploy.

"Oh," Moore said. "I guess I knew there must be something more, but I don't see how you can think we'd have something to do with it." He looked at Rossi, establishing proper eye contact for the first time. He was trying to weigh up what information they had.

"This coffee is good," Rossi said, changing the topic in a blunt fashion so Moore knew that he wasn't going to get any more information. "Tell me more about your first marriage. What was your wife like? I can't imagine there are two women like Martha in the world."

Moore had already looked away so Rossi couldn't read them, but his expression was cold. "I'd rather not speak of it, if you don't mind," Moore said. "It's not something I wish to think too much about, you know."

Rossi eyed the clock, wondering how much longer they would have to spend here, and how much longer it would take to get something concrete on the Moores. Winter was looming, and they had other issues to deal with before the first snow.

She hadn't heard anything in days. It was soundproofed, that she'd worked out, and that would answer why she hadn't heard anything, but even so, she'd expected a visit from the creep who was keeping her here.

Sophie picked up the book she was reading off the floor. The Collector, by John Fowles. She'd figured he'd left it there on purpose as some sick joke, but on closer inspection she'd found the name of someone else on the inside front cover: Alison Heath. Sophie wondered who she was and where she was now. This room had clearly been done up for a lodger – maybe that had been Alison.

Her mom would have started to miss her by now; she would have expected a phone call or a text message to say that she was okay, and as none had been sent, she would be wondering what to do. She had Emily's number, but Sophie knew that would be useless. But there was Detective Winters and Jolene – if her mom went to either of those then they surely would be in touch with Agent Rossi.

She sat back on the sofa where she had been sleeping and returned her eyes to the book, taking in the situation of Miranda and likening it to her own. Miranda hadn't managed to find a way out. Sophie could only hope her own fate would be different.

Winter brings an external coldness. Its temperature seeps into bones, slowing them down and making every movement seem like a great effort. It brings a need to huddle into warm blankets next to a roaring fire, waiting for blood to heat up. It is the neediest season, when we wish for the comforts of home; warmth, nourishing food and the heat of others.

Hotch thought he would have felt more awkward, sitting in the car with Emily so close. He'd managed to avoid her for the past day or so, not wanting to deal with what he felt at present. It was something he'd become good at, repressing any form of emotion and storing it away neatly, without mess, and at the moment, this needed to remain stored away.

"You believe the tale about the clothing?" Emily said, referring back to Martha Moore's reason why they seemed to have found something belonging to Alfie in her house.

Hotch shook his head, feeling relieved that Emily had chosen to stay on the topic of the case. He'd known she would anyway, knew she'd be nothing less than professional. None of what had happened between them would compromise their working relationship. "No. I think she has Alfie. In fact, I'm absolutely certain of it. It's just going to be a matter of time before we find him, and we only have her or John Moore to tell us where he is."

"I'm not convinced John Moore's involved," Emily said, looking out of the window. "I'm not convinced he's isn't either, but something isn't sitting right there."

Hotch almost smiled at her turn of speech. "He's interesting. I'm hoping Rossi can get something out of him whilst they wait to speak with Martha Moore."

"If they get to. That performance in her bedroom was exactly that – it was done for show so it seems she's losing her grip on reality," Emily said, no hint of anything in her voice. He wondered why he was looking for something, for some sign of what she was feeling. He could put it down to guilt, to needing to know that she was okay and not too hurt by what had happened. By what he'd done.

"If it was, then she's far more intelligent than what we've given her credit for so far," he said, keeping up his speed as he took a sharp bend. He'd gotten to know the roads around here quickly, and had devised a route back to the safe house that took them away from the main roads, making it easier to spot if anyone was following them.

"If she is responsible for all the disappearances of these children then she is dangerous, Aaron. Someone careless would have been caught by now," she said, now looking at him. His name reverberated around the car and he wished he could ignore it, but he knew that tonight he would hear it in his sleeping state.

"We haven't done this case right," he said, feeling anger and frustration at the truth in the words. "Strauss should never have put this our way with everything else that is going on. We should have solely worked on whoever is targeting us. Too much is at stake."

"But we know who has Alfie. By tomorrow – this evening, maybe – he could be home," she said, a look of hope in her eyes that he just caught sight of.

Hotch said nothing, instinctively knowing that that wasn't going to happen. The darkness of the day showed no sign of lifting. He concentrated on the drive, anger bubbling inside that he wouldn't let anyone see, would deal with in a positive way, through work, through thought.

Only he wouldn't think about the woman beside him and how to resolve that anger. That was beyond him right now. It might always be.

Martha smiled at the officer, Lyndsay Bergamon, who was sat down in a chair, glancing nervously at the door. "I'll only be five minutes," she said, trying to reassure the police officer who wore the same expression as when she was five years old and had been fretting over being left at school for the first time by her mother. "No one will know I've gone. If a nurse pops in you can just say I've been to the bathroom when we get back."

"I really should let Agent Rossi know..."

Martha shook her head. "He won't allow it. He thinks I've done something horrible to this boy," she allowed tears to fill her eyes, semi-genuine ones as she thought of poor Alfie, all alone, needing her. "You know I could never hurt anyone, Lyndsay. You remember being in my class don't you?"

Lyndsay nodded. "I know – it's Mrs Moore now, isn't it? You were my favourite teacher. I'm sure all this will get sorted soon. You say you want to check in on your neighbour?"

She felt herself brightened, feeling like an addict who was about to get what they desired. "I just need to go in and feed the cat and the fish. She's in hospital and I always help her out when I can. If we take the fire escape no one will notice us, and we'll be back before the nurse's next proper check up," Martha said, stepping towards the door.

"Okay," Lyndsay nodded. "Seeing as it's you." She gave Martha a large smile that reminded her of when Lyndsay had received the student of the week award. But Lyndsay wasn't that little girl anymore. She was no longer a child, and she didn't need any looking after. Martha needed to remember that.

There may be another update tomorrow, if not, then definitely Wednesday!

Please review, so I know my absence hasn't caused too many people to stop enjoying!

Sarah x