(Ok, so it took a WEE bit longer than I expected to finish this one…)

INTERIM THIRTEEN

Peter S. Beagle wrote:

"Heroes know that things must happen when it is time for them to happen. A quest may not simply be abandoned; unicorns may go unrescued for a long time, but not forever; a happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story."

Adrian Templeton was the sneeziest man Emily had ever seen. She watched him from behind the interrogation glass at the Indianapolis field office, and wondered if they should grab a spare box of tissues. His eyes were watery, washed with an allergic haze, as Morgan and Coombs—the two men who didn't fit the victimology—prepped him for the final part of the interrogation. The part when Emily and Hotch took over. The part where they attempted to jar a reaction out of him.

Where they hoped to get more out of him then they had after two hours of interrogation work. At least the location of the bodies. Emily knew the families deserved that much.

Hotch stood beside her, watching the proceedings silently. His shoulder touched hers, a strangely reassuring warmth. When had she come to depend on the one man she'd always been wary of?

"So how are we going to do this?" Emily asked.

"I'm going in." Hotch said, "Make it clear I'm the superior agent, start questioning him. Twenty minutes in, I want you in. By my side, with this." He wagged a bright orange package in front of her face.

"You want to try to trigger the rage." Emily stated. "What do you think will happen?"

"I don't know, but I'm ready to find out." Hotch said, eyes running over her face, checking for signs of her mental processes. "You ok with this?"

"Yes." Emily said, resolutely. She reached a hand out, taking the chocolate from him. Her fingers grazed his, and he reached out quickly, trapping her smaller hand.

"This is almost over." He said, squeezing her hand around the chocolate. "When we're done, we'll all fly back to Chicago, tie up any loose ends, then all of us will head to Spinelli's one last time."

"I'm going to hold you to that." Emily smiled. "Otherwise we'll have one very disappointed media liaison. She's been going on and on about the spaghetti. And garlic bread. I've noticed she seems to want garlic bread a lot."

He actually smiled a half-smile at her, though—in truth—he was worried about the upcoming interrogation. He'd never really worried about having her that close to UNSUBS before. Had never thought he'd have to, or had the right. It was her job. But now he was sending her into a man who had targeted her. Deliberately. Hoping to incite a reaction. Willingly putting the woman he wanted into potential danger.

What did that say about him?

Still, if he had any hope of gaining her interest, of changing the dynamics of their relationship he had to prove long before he made a move in that direction that he trusted her as a member of the team first. The whole success of his plans depended on her trusting him as much as he wanted her to know he trusted her.

"Ready?" He asked.

"Ready." Emily replied, shoulders squared and chin resolute. "Let's break this bastard and get the hell out of Indy."

Hotch nodded, squeezed her elbow once more before turning to go. He fought the urge to turn around and tell her not to worry about it, that he didn't want her going near Templeton, but he didn't. He just continued on, opening both sets of doors and entered the interrogation room.

Templeton looked up, face sullen and morose. Almost pouting. His lips lifted in an unconscious snarl when he recognized Hotch. "Where is she?"

"I'll be the one asking the questions, Mr. Templeton." Hotch said, calmly. He didn't look toward the interrogation room window. Didn't betray Emily's presence. "We have a few questions for you, starting with this."

He laid out the chemical analysis of the blue paint found on the ball bat. "It matches the paint of the SUV I was driving."

"So? A lot of SUV's are blue."

"And this camera?" He showed him the pictures of Emma Miller's camera. "And this necklace? This PDA? All these possessions have been positively identified as belonging to these women."

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Emily watched as Hotch skillfully led the man around to a position that was favorable for a confession. She had to admit, the man was one hell of an interrogator. He gave the signal for her to enter and she did.

No one in the room missed the way Templeton's attention focused on her and stayed on her. Then she smacked the package of chocolate on the table between them. "Thank you, Hotch."

"No problem, Emily. I know you love chocolate." Hotch smiled then, an expression so predatory that Emily fought the natural inclination to backup. The man could be so coldly lethal.

Templeton's breathing increased as Emily opened the package. Then in a calculated move, she offered the UNSUB the other piece of chocolate and peanut butter candy.

"You bitch! You know I'm allergic to chocolate! You know!" He suddenly screamed, jumping from the chair. The wrist manacle chained to the table prevented him from reaching her, but Hotch had instinctively placed his body in front of hers. Tony Amecci had been a few milliseconds behind Hotch, and Derek had echoed the movement from the other side.

Emily couldn't even see Templeton from her position behind three large male agent bodies. Soon Hotch and Derek had Templeton wrestled back down, and Hotch was ordering Emily out of interrogation. They'd take it the rest of the way, and she'd watch for body language tells through the window.

It was one of her strengths, that and listening to nuances behind speech. She was one hell of a linguist, and she knew it. She could pinpoint a man's region in the Middle East through the most subtle of word choices.

A man like Adrian Templeton was no challenge at all.

She buzzed Hotch on the mic he wore. "He's lying when asked about his uncle's farm, Hotch."

She watched and listened as Hotch led Templeton around to the topic of his uncle's farm once again.

It took two hours for them to pry the truth out of him. Another two for the warrant to go through. And yet another hour for them to make the drive to the southern Indiana town where the bodies were said to have been hidden.

Twenty-two bodies were found, buried in shallow graves surrounding the barn. Emily wanted to sit down and bawl. Twenty-two families who would never see their loved ones again, all because Templeton couldn't handle a normal rejection.

EMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCH

Hotch watched her face as yet another body was pulled from the ground. How did she do it? How did she keep her face so perfectly composed when her eyes held such turmoil?

Why hadn't he ever noticed? "Emily? You ok?"

She looked at him, seemingly startled at finding him there. "Will it ever make sense, I wonder?"

"People like Templeton?" Hotch asked, moving a little closer. "I don't know."

"He raged against so many people. Simply because she left him."

"Losing someone can be a powerful motivator." Hotch said, thinking of the changes he'd tried to implement in his life since Hayley had left. Changes he probably should have made long before his wife had ever considered leaving. Changes he was still working on-especially with the woman beside him.

"Yes." He leaned closer to hear her whispered sigh.

"It's in how you deal with it that makes a difference. People like Templeton function on a lower level than we do." He looked away, at all the local agents and crews working to pull the women from the ground.

"Do you really believe that? He was a successful professor, had a good life, could have met someone else and went on, yet instead he chose to murder women to make those who loved them pay. Wouldn't that be considered inherently evil?" And yet he'd hated dark-haired men who bought their dark-haired partners chocolate. Because his girlfriend had left him for a dark-haired man. Who'd bought her chocolate. Templeton had tasted it on her lips when he'd tried to kiss her and he'd known. Or so he'd said. Chocolate as an indicator of what he'd seen as adultery. After all, Templeton had said—you wouldn't eat the thing that could kill your lover unless you planned to kill him. It had triggered rage, and the urge to kill. But he'd valued his position as a professor, so he'd killed others who reminded him of them.

It still didn't make sense to Emily. She almost doubted that it ever would.

"Define evil." Hotch said, grabbing her elbow in as strong a show of affection and support that he felt he could make while surrounded by agents and local LEOs. Even the local television station was represented.

"Templeton. Hinkle. Frank." Emily started. "Hardwick. Joseph Smith."

"Was Smith evil or sick? Or do they all suffer from some sickness?" Hotch asked. "We can't dwell on it, Emily, or it will drive us insane."

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Emily knocked on the door to the little bungalow. Hotch watched from the Bureau SUV as Emma Miller's mother answered the door.

He'd understood that she felt she had to do this—hadn't he made a special effort to visit Addie's son after he'd been killed? They all had cases that just gotto them, why should Emily be any different? The women spoke for several minutes before moving back to the same porch swing. Jolene Miller cried, hugged Emily and returned inside. But Emily didn't move to the SUV and Hotch went on high alert.

The older woman returned and handed Emily a small black bag. Emily shook her head, tried to refuse. But the woman was insistent, and Emily accepted graciously. Hotch wondered was in that bag.

The front door opened again, and Hotch saw Steven Lucas, Emma Miller's lover, step out on to the porch.

The man paused when he realized it was Emily. His body tensed, and Hotch felt his echo the man's action. The photographer moved closer to Emily, touched her arm, said something.

Emily tensed her shoulders, the only sign that Hotch could see that she was uneasy. He opened the SUV door. Took him less than five seconds to reach Emily's side. "Agent Prentiss? We really need to be going, the jet leaves in an hour."

"Of course. Mrs. Miller, thank you." Emily turned toward the older woman and smiled.

Hotch watched Jolene Miller return the expression, though hers was touched by the sadness that only a grieving parent could exhibit.

Steven Lucas said nothing as Hotch and Emily shook his hand politely. He just stared at them, the grief for his Emma still fresh in his brown eyes. Hotch felt for him. Knowing you couldn't protect the ones you loved was a horrible feeling. Hotch's whole being was dedicated to making the world safer for Jack and for the other's that he cared about. But he wasn't stupid, he knew it wasn't enough, would never truly be enough. But that didn't stop him from trying.

The SUV ride to the Indianapolis Airport was made in between soft conversation and longer silences.

"What did she give you?" Hotch finally asked, motioning to the bag at Emily's feet. He'd yet to see her unzip it.

"One of Emma Miller's favorite cameras. Said that her daughter would have wanted it to be used and appreciated." Emily's words were soft as she watched out the window as the sped down I-465. "I tried to refuse."

"It probably gave Jolene some comfort to imagine you using it. You love photography just like her daughter."

"And I look like she did." Emily turned to face him more fully.

"Yes." And she had. Emma Miller had bore an extremely strong resemblance to Emily in some of the photographs Hotch had seen. Same shaped eyes, same coloring. Emma Miller was slightly shorter, and just a little curvier. But the face, the face was very similar to Emily's. It had been hard for Hotch to look at those photographs. He could only imagine how difficult it had been for Emily. How difficult it had been for Lucas and Jolene Miller to see Emily. "We got the bastard, Em."

He'd unconsciously used the same nickname Emma Miller's family had used for her, and he became aware of it at the same time she did. Emily paused before speaking. "Will it ever truly be over for them?"

"Nothing ever is. I know it's never perfect. But it's the best we can do."

"I guess that's all anyone can ask of us, isn't it?" She lifted the black bag from the floor board and unzipped it carefully.

Inside was a nice Canon SLR camera. Pricy, but well-worn. Well-loved. Emily pulled it out, and Hotch saw her run her fingers over the E and M carved into the bottom. Once it stood for Emma Miller.

"We did good on this one, Emily. He won't ever hurt anyone else ever again." Hotch tried one last time at reassurance.

"There's still film in this camera." Emily stated. "Looks like she kept it ready always. Film's probably still good."

"Are you going to use up the roll?"

"Yes, I think I will. Then I'll develop it. See what pictures she had taken with this camera. The last pictures of hers developed shouldn't be of her body, Hotch." Templeton had taken several shots of Emma Miller's dead body with the Minolta they'd found. A perpetual reminder of his actions though he'd never developed them. "And hopefully, hopefully, there will be some butterflies."

"Butterflies are beautiful." Hotch stated in his usually flat Hotch voice. "Just ask JJ."

"They certainly are." Emily pointed the camera at him, setting the shutter speed. "Smile, Hotch. Just once. I promise it won't hurt."

He smiled.

The End

Thank you for reading Interim.

I will be attempting to finish "Hope" in the next few days.