Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed this story! The mini follow up will be called Tread Softly and I'm hoping to post the first chapter next Sunday - there's summary at the end of this last chapter!

And so it ends...

Where the Blue of the Night

"It is a curious emotion, this certain homesickness I have in mind. With Americans, it is a national trait, as native to us as the roller-coaster or the jukebox. It is no simple longing for the home town or country of our birth. The emotion is Janus-faced: we are torn between a nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known."

- Carson McCullers

Chapter Fifty

November 14th

If confidence had an impact on size, Rossi was certain Sophie should have been about six and a half feet tall. He glance at her, looking through the in flight magazine, studying the map of America, and considered what she could become. She was pretty, clever, resourceful and completely unaware of it, which was no bad thing. She'd also spent the last three days terrorising the Academy, which again, was no bad thing either. They needed terrorising by something that didn't want to bomb them once in a while.

"You want a drink?" Rossi said. "I could do with a coffee."

She put the magazine down and stretched out her legs, giving him a smile that she was clearly trying to stop from being too broad. "I've never flown first class before," she said. "Don't suppose I ever will again, so I'll have as much coffee as I can."

"Let's make it decaff then," he said, trying not to smile himself. He pressed the button to call the attendant. "I believe you went to the firing range with Hotch this morning?"

She nodded, looking pleased with herself. There were no apparent after affects from her few days n captivity, except for the deep cuts that were slowly healing down the side of her face and on her arms. "Reid was there," she said, the smile becoming deeply mischievous. "We had a competition."

"Really?" Rossi said, not knowing if he should ask for more details as the temptation to torture Reid would be too great. "And you found out how good you really were, I take it?"

Sophie shrugged. "I couldn't get anywhere near the shots Hotch was taking. Still, I had fun."

Rossi wondered whether she knew about Hotch's background in SWAT, and if she actually realised how good Hotch actually was, but decided not to go down that route. "That's all that matters," he said, letting some sleeping dogs lie. "How was Jolene before you left?"

Sophie smiled again. "Missing you, I think, and pretending that she didn't. Jolene is not the world's greatest actress. She gave me a job waiting tables at the weekend. I hope she doesn't fire me because I've been away for so long."

"I doubt it," Rossi said. "Don't let her know, but she really is as soft as feathers. Besides, you'll bring in extra custom. Loads of people will want to see the waitress who's helped the FBI yet again."

Sophie pulled a face, almost scaring the flight attendant who was now at their seats. "Can I get you something, sir?" she said.

"Two coffees, one decaff, one Irish," Rossi said. "The decaff is for the lady." He gestured to Sophie. "Do you want something to eat?"

She glanced from Rossi to the flight attendant. "I'd love a club sandwich, if that's okay?"

The attendant nodded and smiled. "And you sir?"

"I'll have the same."

"The same as your granddaughter. I'll have your drinks here in a minute; the food will be a little longer," she shot them another smile and left Rossi feeling a little bewildered, listening to Sophie's smothered laughter.

"I think she just wanted to reassure herself that I wasn't your girlfriend," Sophie said, laughing again. "I take it that's something you don't want me to tell Emily when she asks about my flight?"

He glared over at her. "Not if you want more shooting lessons when we get to Calverville."

She smiled. "I'll keep it a secret then. More shooting lessons? Really?"

Rossi nodded. "Given the talent you seem to have for getting into trouble, I think it would as well for you to be as good a shot as Hotch." He didn't smile back, but his eyes were dancing, although he did wonder what he was getting himself into.

...

The bar was quiet, as he knew it would be. There were only two other couples and a group of three women there, any conversation hidden behind the low, soft music that was being played. Morgan toyed with his drink, a tomato juice with a kick, and glanced up at the door as Jacey entered. She was dressed for work still, and clearly hadn't been home yet. Her hair was mussed, and she looked harassed.

"Derek," she said, sitting down. "I haven't got long, I'm afraid. I have an arrangement at eight and I need to go back to the apartment and change." By arrangement he knew she meant date.

"Sure," he said. "It's good to see you anyway."

She smiled but it seemed forced, and he knew she didn't really want to be there.

"Have you met someone?" he said, not sure how he would feel about the answer.

She shrugged. "I've been seeing him casually for a while, but since I hadn't heard from you for a couple of weeks, I let it get more serious. I should have told you."

"This isn't a booty call, Jacey," Morgan said. "I just wanted to see how you were, and apologise for not being in touch."

Jacey nodded, and this time her smile seemed more genuine. "That's nice, Derek. How are you? I assume you've been away with work?"

He looked at the table rather than her, thinking of Utah. "Yeah. It's been a busy few weeks. Can I buy you a drink?"

She glanced at her watch and shook her head. "Maybe another time, but I really have to get going. We have a reservation at eight."

Morgan stood up as she did. "I hope you have a good evening," he said, briefly touching the side of her arm. There would be no kiss, no flirtation. She would leave and that would be it, a chapter of his life well and truly over.

"Take care, Derek," she said, turning and leaving, without a second glance back.

He sat back down, picking up his glass and swirling the viscous liquid in it.

"Hey," a voice came from behind him. He turned around and saw a tall blonde woman who he recognised from somewhere familiar. "I'm Joy Belvoir. I've just started in counter-terrorism; transferred from New York."

He offered his hand. "I'm Derek Morgan. BAU. How you finding it?"

She smiled, moving round the table and sitting down. "Lonely, exciting, a challenge. You want another drink?"

He smiled, not his full on beam, but a smile that was real. He had no intentions here. "I'll get these. What are you having?"

...

"A bit lower. No, higher. That's it, just there."

Garcia sighed as Kevin kneaded the knot that had built up in her shoulders. It was quiet, oh so very quiet, and she was enjoy every moment of peace. Their mobiles were switched off, the computers were disconnected from anything to do with bad things, and they had no car, so were therefore stranded until someone from the Bureau came to pick them up in about four days time.

"I hope I'm going to get my knots relieved," Kevin said, his fingers trickling over her shoulders like ambrosia.

"It depends where they are, sugar," she said, forcing herself to sit up. "I think I'm hungry. How much of Rossi's wine's left?"

"Hunger and Rossi's wine aren't really connected, babe," Kevin said, stretching next to her. "I'll have a look and see what's in." He gave her a kiss, then left the room, leaving her smiling.

It had been three days since everyone had left. JJ was now back home on a heavy dose of medication, Agent Llewellyn was out of the ICU, and she and Kevin had been left to their own sweet devices in the safe house, after putting a request into Strauss. Surprisingly, she'd made arrangements for them to stay there a little longer, keeping it occupied while the security around it was checked for any breeches.

Garcia flopped back down on the sofa, closing her eyes. The day had been spent walking around the woodland surrounding the house, then enjoying the facilities that had seemed unimportant while they had been contained there. She was happy. Her team were all doing what they did to relax; everyone was well, or getting there at least, and she didn't have to look up any more evil people for at least a fortnight, potentially more. And Strauss had been nice to her. Mainly because she'd asked Garcia to put a track on her daughter's financial movements, something Garcia had been a little bit objectionable about, until Strauss had explained that she was worried her daughter had gotten mixed up with a man who was bad news and just wanted to check she was okay. Then Garcia had agreed, making sure she knew a little bit more than what Strauss had asked for, so she knew the girl really was alright.

"We have wine, cheese and I found pizza and dough balls, all of which are now being cooked, except for the wine of course, which is here," Kevin said, whipping a bottle of Rossi's finest and two glasses from behind his back. "Then after we've eaten, I suggest we head off for a short evening stroll before you can repay my massaging efforts in any way you deem fit." He put the glasses on the coffee table and sat down, taking the cork out of the bottle.

Garcia smiled lazily. "What do you think everyone's doing right now?" she said, picturing their faces. "I think Rossi will be slow dancing with Jolene back in Calverville, while a pot roast cooks on the stove."

Kevin shook his head. "I think he'll be sat at the bar, telling stories to a captive audience. He'll be on his fourth or fifth whisky by now, and in his element."

"I'd prefer to think of him slow dancing with Jolene. Maybe we should cook a pot roast tomorrow. What about Derek?" She saved her pet names for Morgan for when Kevin wasn't around.

"Now I can imagine him slow dancing, I don't particularly want to, but I can. He'll be telling tales about his war wounds too, and some lady will be lapping it up," Kevin said, pouring the wine.

"I hope so. He's been out of sorts. He needs to get his mojo back; find himself a nice lady and share the goodness... and I'll stop there. Right there," she said, applying her worried face. "The boss man and wonder woman. What are they up to right now?"

"Things I'd probably rather not imagine," Kevin said, taking a large drink of wine.

"I think they'll be having a long, intellectual discussion before he sweeps her off her feet and takes her to some swanky restaurant, where he'll feed her caviar and strawberries – but not together," Garcia said, smiling at the image.

Kevin gave her a strange look. "I think I'll go check on the pizza." She heard him mumbling something about it being far less messy than caviar. Sometimes he had such a complex.

Garcia pulled herself off the sofa and walked over to the window, looking out towards the woodlands. The branches swayed serenely, a final dance of the day, and she closed the curtain. The smell of pizza drew her to the kitchen, and to Kevin, where they would have their own slow dance, even if they didn't have any music.

...

The chair where she had sat with Henry when he was the smallest of babies gave her the most comfort. From there she could watch him in his cot, sleeping peacefully in a room that still smelt of baby, more specifically Henry.

"You okay, cher?"

JJ looked up, smiling softly at Will. "I'm fine. Just watching Henry," she said.

"You sure that's all? You're not thinking about everything that happened?"

"It's kind of impossible not to."

Will sat down on the chase lounge that had been passed through his family since time began, apparently. "He's dead, JJ, and he's not going to be bothering you or us, or the rest of the team again, unless you let him."

"I know," she said. "I'm not worried, and I've stopped feeling guilty. I know I didn't do anything to encourage him. God knows I've told enough other victims of stalking the same thing, but I have to process what happened otherwise it will become nightmares."

He nodded, understanding. This was why people in law enforcement often got together with other people in law enforcement; they comprehended the emotions and dealt with them in a similar way. "What else is it?" Will said.

JJ smiled. He knew her too well. "Martha Moore," she said. "Her life. What she did was horrific, but there was a reason behind it. You can kind of understand what drove her towards her actions." She looked at Henry, fast asleep, peaceful. He hadn't understood anything that had been going on, and for that she was thankful.

"People deal with things in different ways," Will said. "And we can't always predict what our reactions will be."

He smiled, and she wasn't sure why. She looked at him questioningly. "You're home," he said. "There was a time when there was a chance you might not be, but you're back and safe, and right now, Jayje, that's all that matters."

She saw the sincerity on his face, and echoes of the pain she knew had been there; there was no need for him to hold her or touch her right now, no need for physical contact, being in that room together was enough.

"I've made pie," he said. "Cherry pie. And there's jambalaya first."

Her stomach rumbled and she smiled at him, the corners of her mouth touching almost her ears. "I've been up here a while, haven't I?"

He nodded. "So I think it's time you came downstairs and we toasted you being home, us being home."

She stood up, her body aching only slightly now. "How much pie am I allowed?"

"As much as you want as long as you eat your dinner."

She laughed, the sounds of bells peeling in Henry's dreams.

...

If Reid hated flying on the jet, he hated flying with the public even more. The waiting was the worst part; having to sit in an area with too many other people, all fighting to get to places first, when there really was no rush and several sets of statistics that they really should be more aware of.

He was sitting at a bar in the lounge reserved for those flying business class or above, having decided that paying the extra was worth it if this were to be the few hours before he died. His poison of choice was orange juice and lemonade, the sugar settling his nerves.

A woman of about his age was nearby, hovering over a newspaper, studying the crossword. She looked puzzled and was mouthing a clue to herself.

"The answer's 'all at sea'," he said without thinking.

"I thought it might be," she said. "But that seemed too obvious."

"Sometimes that's what's difficult – you think it can't possibly be the answer because it's too easy, but it is. It's why I gave up doing them," he said, happy he'd found some way to pass a few minutes, even if Morgan would think he was a geek for talking about crosswords with a pretty girl. But Morgan thought he was a geek anyway, and she was... pretty.

"So what do you do now?" she said.

"I make them up. It's not that difficult," he stopped himself from explaining how. "I'm Spencer, by the way."

"I'm Claire. It's nice to meet you. Are you travelling alone?"

He nodded. "Yeah," he stopped himself before he could tell her the percentage of people that flew alone each day. "I'm heading to Vegas."

"To get married?"

He thought she was joking; the timbre of her voice suggested she was so he laughed lightly. "To see my mother, and have a few days break. It's been a busy few weeks. You?"

Claire smiled. "Vegas too. To see my father. He's a detective down there. He got injured in a raid recently."

"It wasn't the one last Thursday, was it?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

He smiled awkwardly. She would now find his inner geek. Or maybe not so inner. "I'm a federal agent – I like to keep track of what's going on." He tried to hide his awkwardness but knew he wasn't doing a very good job.

"Can I get you a drink?" Claire said. "Then maybe we could go sit over at a table and you can help me with the rest of my crossword?"

"I'll get the drinks," Reid said. "And I'd love to help – although you look like you were doing just fine." He glanced at the crossword again. "The answer to three down is inebriated. What drink would you like?" He looked back up at her. Maybe this flight wouldn't be so bad after all.

...

Time hadn't stood still. She hadn't mistaken where the hands on her watch were either. Which meant he was late. Late, or she had been stood up. Emily ran her fingers up and down the glass, wiping off the condensation that had grown in the past few minutes since the lemonade had started to warm to room temperature.

"It's not like Aaron to be late," Kasem said, looking at her worriedly. "Has he called you?"

"No," she said. "Maybe he's forgotten, or something's come up with Jack." She knew that was unlikely, given that Jack was out of state with Haley. Or maybe he's just seen sense, she thought. She didn't really believe that though, not after the past few days. They'd spent time together, and with Sophie. It had been kind of perfect, so she'd thought, and now Sophie had gone back home she was looking forward to spending some alone time with Hotch. They were going to talk about taking a vacation tonight, a few days away somewhere. Somewhere they'd never had a case.

Unless he'd got cold feet.

Emily turned away from the window and studied the menu. She was hungry, and the smell of Thai food was always appealing. "I'll give him five more minutes and then I'll..."

"You'll what, Agent Prentiss?" The bell on the door chimed at the same time the words were said.

"Aaron," Emily said, turning around to see him. "I was beginning to wonder..."

He sat down looking somewhat perturbed. "I'm sorry, I'm late and I didn't call as I just wanted to get here quickly. But I received an email just as I was about to leave." He sighed, looking for Kasem. "Can I have a fresh orange, please?"

Kasem nodded, then left them to it. Emily leaned forward across the table. Hotch generally engaged in conversation with Kasem once he arrived; something important must have happened for him not to do so now.

"I have a second cousin who lives in Ireland, or had, I should say. His lawyer's been trying to contact me for the past week and was eventually given my old email address. I fished out his email from my spam as I was about to leave. My second cousin, who is a few years older than me, died two weeks ago, leaving me his estate and a lot of sorting out to do," Hotch said, his expression as intense as when they were in the midst of a case.

Emily felt a wave of disappointment as she realised any proposed vacation would now remain a mere dream.

"So," Hotch said. "How would you like a trip to Ireland?"

...

Tread Softly – Hotch and Prentiss head to Ireland to organise the estate of Hotch's deceased distant cousin. A relaxing break becomes anything but as murder is committed in the very hotel in which they're staying. Myth and legend hamper the truth from being discovered. HP centred, with cameos from other team members.