Your reviews make me happier than a bird with a French fry. I feel like we're becoming best friends. Yaaaas. Also, I'm watching "Revelations" right now for the derpteenth time so UNFF.

I'm really sorry about the delay in getting this chapter out. I've just had a really busy week and haven't had a lot of time to work on it. I hope it's up to your standards!

If I titled my chapters, this one would be called, "Rated for Stabbiness and Morgan's Foul Mouth."

[…]

It was just nearly three thirty in the morning when the team arrived at the hospital. Before proceeding to rouse his agents, Hotch had asked Sheriff Hadley the question he'd been dreading: "It's not - Sheriff, it's not my agent-?" He had no idea how he'd gotten the words out with how tight his throat felt.

"No," Hadley had assured him immediately in a firm tone. "No, it's - aw shit. Agent Hotchner, you better just get down here."

The team could see the lights from the army of police vehicles long before they pulled up. It was drizzling out and a thick fog had rolled in while they slept. One young officer was getting sick near some decorative bushes off to the right. Sheriff Walt Hadley marched forward to greet them as the agents unloaded from their SUVs, and he began without preamble. "It's bad. The worst yet," the man said, pale faced and clearly agitated. "We got 'er covered in a sheet on account a the rain." He led them to a barricaded section of the hospital parking lot. Toward the back row of spaces was a body covered in a bloodied white sheet, and blood spatter and tissue was extending outward from there. Hadley rubbed the back of his head uncomfortably and squinted at Hotch out the corner of his eye. "I - I've seen things, Agent Hotchner, but this… I can't go back over there."

"It's all right," Hotch said, kind yet stern, as he moved forward.

Hadley stepped away to join his officers, throwing a broken, "I'm sorry…" over his shoulder at the agents as they stepped past him.

Prentiss pulled out a pair of neon green neoprene gloves from her back pocket, then knelt down and lifted a corner of the sheet, peeking at what laid underneath. She crinkled her nose and looked up at her unit chief. "Hotch…"

She fully removed the sheet to reveal the body - or what was left of it. This person had been a woman, and she'd been hacked nearly to pieces. Her face was now completely unrecognizable, more resembling ground meat than anything. Her chest was ripped wide open and her insides pulled out, and apparently Brandt had tried to carry them away if the bloody trail leading away from the body was any indication. She was slim, with brown skin and thick black hair, much of which had been ripped out at the roots and was resting on the ground around her head, like some macabre halo. And she was wearing-

Dark blue hospital scrubs.

"Oh my god," JJ murmured chokingly. "Is that-? That's Dr. Johar."

"What the fuck," Morgan breathed out angrily under his breath.

"Dr. Armstrong, the chief of medicine - he said Sujeh left work 'bout close to three," Hadley supplied. "We got a 911 call just after that. The nurses heard screamin' comin' from the parking lot, but by the time they got out here, well…" He gestured with both his hands at the mutilated body before them.

"This…is significantly different from all of Brandt's other kills," Emily pointed out, bending down to get a better look. "Looks like he used the same weapon, but he didn't stop at stabbing her fifteen times. He…destroyed her."

"Looks like he ripped her ribcage apart by hand," Morgan added.

Emily shifted her angle and her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "And he sexually assaulted her with the knife." She looked up at Hotch, her expression tortured. "That's a first."

"And there's no doll," Hotch said. "She wasn't the target. Brandt came here hoping to get to Reid. When he realized he couldn't without going through an armed FBI agent, he probably took his rage out on the first person he saw-"

"Dr. Johar," JJ finished for him.

"Hotch, this attack was rushed, angry. He didn't take nearly as much time with this victim as he did with the others," Morgan explained, his expression brooding and concerned. "He's not gonna be able to keep himself away for much longer."

"I know," replied Hotch contemplatively. "If he was willing to risk getting caught like this and to deviate so wildly from his established MO, then he's devolving."

"I'll say," JJ chimed in hostilely under her breath.

Hotch turned to Sheriff Hadley again. "Sheriff, would it be possible to post some of your officers outside the hospital for extra security? They could escort patients and staff to and from their cars."

"We're a small department, Agent. We don't really got a lotta manpower as it is…" Hadley said. His eyes strayed once again to the exposed body on the ground. His expression became firm, resolute, as he looked back at Hotch. "But this can't happen again. To no one. We'll do everything we can - we'll make it work. You got my word."

"Thank you." Hotch turned to address his team. "Prentiss, Morgan, go ahead and relieve Rossi. Fill him in. And…be vigilant. Now that Brandt's devolving so rapidly we have no way of predicting what his next move will be." Emily nodded fiercely. "JJ, I want you to go back to the hotel. Garcia is busy digging up anyone even remotely connected to Brandt who still lives in or around Blythewood. Help her sort through potential hideaways. Make a list of any house calls we can make in the morning. Nothing is too insignificant - former employers, old classmates - anything."

"Got it," JJ replied quickly, turning and heading for one of the SUVs.

"And Sheriff Hadley. The sooner we can get a patrol out here the better." The older man moved to step forward past Hotch, but the agent caught his arm lightly. "Did you know her?" Hotch asked quietly, mindful of the officers still mulling around the crime scene. Hadley's eyes widened significantly. "Earlier you referred to her by her first name."

Hadley's lips pressed together. To an experienced profiler, it was clear he was trying to hold back grief. "Blythewood's a small town. Everybody knows everybody. McCullough-" He tipped his head at the young police officer stumbling away from the bushes. "He lives right next door to 'er. Watches her cat when she goes outta town. And, uh… She's my granddaughter's doctor. Kayla loves her. Calls her Dr. Sue." He smiled faintly, but it was short-lived. When he looked back up into Hotch's eyes, he looked weathered and old, much older than he had eight days ago when they first met. "She was a good woman. She didn't deserve to die like this. None a these women did."

"I agree," Hotch replied earnestly. "The sooner we can catch this man the better. And - if you need anyone to talk to, please don't hesitate, Sheriff. I am sorry for your loss." He extended a hand in a sign of solidarity. Hadley seemed to have to bite back his emotions and reign in his will to accept it.

"Thank you, Agent. Really. And, uh, I'll get right on that patrol."

Hotch watched the older man lumber off to address his officers, then turned back to find Morgan had hung back after he'd been dismissed. Seeing that Hotch was finished speaking with Sheriff Hadley, Morgan approached him, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and posture almost defensive.

"Is something wrong?" Hotch asked, careful to keep his tone from sounding accusatory.

"Hotch, this guy has been like a ghost so far," he stated. Up close Hotch could see the fatigue that had been wearing on Morgan - on all of them - since the start of this case. "He doesn't exist outside of his kills."

Hotch hesitated uncharacteristically. "Garcia's working on narrowing down-"

"Tell me you honestly believe someone this organized - someone this fucking good at what he does - would be that stupid." Morgan's voice was firm, but he wasn't shouting. His gaze burrowed deeply into Hotch's own eyes, daring the older man to contradict him. He didn't. "Come on, man, the guy's hunting while in the middle of devolving and even then the crime scene doesn't give us anything new except that he's pissed off. We can't catch a break. Trying to catch this guy - it's like spitting against the wind."

Hotch pressed his hand against the buzzing phone in his jacket pocket. "Morgan, he's not a ghost. He's just a man. And we'll catch him."

Morgan squared his jaw. Hotch could see the grown man's petulance shining through. "Is that gonna be before or after he rips apart one of our teammates?"

Hotch refused to dignify that with a response. He held Morgan's gaze as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. Morgan could see his boss's eyes narrow at the text on the screen, then the man's jaw went slack and his face paled dramatically.

"Hotch, what is it?" Hotch didn't react. Morgan roughly grabbed his elbow. "Hotch!"

Hotch, still looking down at his cell phone, muttered out, "It's Sam Kassmeyer." He looked up at his subordinate, and when it was clear Morgan still didn't understand, he clarified, his eyes unfocused. "The US Marshal assigned to my family. Excuse me."

Hotch walked away from Morgan toward one of the SUVs to get away from the crime scene techs chatting just a few feet away at the doctor's body, his stride a quick clip against the wet concrete. He got in the driver's side and immediately dialed Sam's number. Rossi approached Morgan from behind, looking on at the younger man who was standing in place, stunned.

"What is it?" he asked, looking on in the direction in which Morgan was staring.

Morgan slowly shook his head in response. "I don't know," he said finally, his words precise and drawn out. "Rossi, Hotch just got a message from the Marshals."

Rossi immediately perked up, his brows drawing together in concern. "What? Is it Jack and Haley?"

"I don't know." Morgan was beginning to sound exasperated, but Rossi knew it was just out of concern for Hotch and his family. "He got a message, but he didn't say anything about it."

Suddenly Hotch jumped out of the SUV and immediately jogged over to the other two agents.

Rossi could see a subdued hysteria blooming on Hotch's face. He held out a calming hand and took a preemptive step forward. "Aaron-"

"It's Foyet," Hotch interrupted. And although his face was in turmoil, his voice was calm and placid. "He's found Haley and Jack. Their location's been compromised."

Morgan growled out a string of curses. How much more could they take?

Rossi, levelheaded and with a placating temperament, carefully asked, "Are they okay?"

"He broke in while they were asleep but he didn't touch them." He hesitated. Morgan had never seen Hotch look vulnerable, and his unit chief suddenly looked like a different man. "I need to go."

"And we're coming with you," Rossi retorted in support.

"No," replied Hotch immediately. "You all need to stay here, work this case."

"Hotch, this is your family we're talking about-"

"So is Reid." Hotch was adamant, and there was a tense silence where Rossi clearly battled over his torn loyalties before Hotch continued. "If we leave now he's as good as dead."

"At least take someone with you," Morgan basically pleaded. "We can manage."

After a slight moment's thought Hotch came to a definitive decision. "Prentiss," he said, absolute. "Her head's been out of this case since Reid was attacked."

"I'll go grab her," offered Morgan, already jogging backwards toward the hospital behind him.

"Do you know where you're going?" Rossi inquired, desperate to do something to help his friend.

"Not yet. Sam's going to call me once he gets a secure line set up. I might need to take to take the jet."

"Of course. We're not going anywhere." Rossi was left staring at Hotch, who in turn was staring at the ground. "Hotch." Hotch looked up, his expression set in a grim scowl. "It'll be okay. They're not hurt, they're fine."

Hotch's eyes squinted into a hardened glare, his balled fists shaking with intensity. "Jack got up in the middle of the night. He woke Haley up to ask her who was writing on the walls in his bedroom."

Rossi opened his mouth, then closed it again, his face unreadable.

Hotch continued. "He was in my son's bedroom, Dave. He wrote a message on the wall in blood. For me."

"Was it his own blood?"

"The test results haven't come back yet. We should know in a few hours."

Still, Agent Rossi's expression seemed passive as he asked, "What did it say?"

Hotch sucked in a huge gulp of air between his teeth. It somehow felt like the first breath he'd taken in two days. "'You should have made a deal.' He could have - he could've killed Jack tonight."

"But he didn't."

"Because he's just toying with me!" Hotch all but shouted.

Emily came running up to her teammates, breathless. "What the hell is going on? Morgan just told me it was an emergency. And - Foyet-?"

Hotch didn't bother responding to her. Instead he barely glanced at her, his stoic unit chief disposition firmly back in place. "With me." He turned back to Rossi. "Keep me updated on what happens here."

Rossi nodded once. "You too."

Emily threw an annoyed, puzzled look in Rossi's direction before following Hotch and hopping in the passenger's side of the SUV. Hotch wasted no time, peeling away from the parking lot with the tires screaming and the siren blaring.

[…]

Reid was awake when Morgan poked his head into the room and summoned Prentiss out into the hallway. She'd only just gotten there a few minutes ago. Reid had tried to inquire about what the commotion was outside, but Prentiss relented to tell him.

It was odd; Emily seemed almost uncomfortable. Reid assumed it was just that she was unnerved with the situation, that she didn't know what to say - "How do you feel?" was kind of a pointless thing to ask.

Then he remembered how horrible he'd been to Prentiss when he was suffering from PTSD after Georgia. How no matter what she said or how helpful or friendly she was being, Reid always had some biting comment to shoot back.

Emily was probably afraid of him, afraid that he'd lash out at her again.

Reid suddenly felt deeply ashamed and was immediately relieved when Morgan switched out with Emily, which just made him feel even worse.

Morgan sat down in the chair beside the bed but didn't even acknowledge Reid. He hunched forward with his elbows on his knees and scrubbed fruitlessly at his face.

Reid licked his lips and spoke in a hushed voice: "What time is it?"

Morgan lifted his head from his hands and slowly looked to his left at Reid. It was almost as if he'd forgotten he was even there. "Uhhh…" He belatedly looked down at his wristwatch. "Just after four." Reid's expression didn't falter at all so he added, "AM."

Reid brought up a hand to rub his palm lazily at his eyes. "My internal clock's all…messed up."

"Tell me about it…" Morgan leaned back and propped his feet up on the hospital bed.

Reid studied Morgan's guarded expression for a moment. His teammate looked so tense. Maybe whatever was up with Emily had nothing to do with Reid's behavior at all. "So what happened?"

"Reid, you don't need to worry about-"

"I'll find out sooner or later," Reid interjected, sounding rather annoyed. "Garcia's so sympathetic right now she'd give me anything I asked."

And of course Morgan knew he was right. Garcia had been nothing but doting since Reid had woken up. Hotch had to order the analyst back to the hotel so she could actually get some work done. Ever the mother hen, Garcia had busied herself all evening with showering Reid with smothering affection, watching "Dr. Who" DVDs that she'd somehow found the time to check out at the local library, and mysteriously procuring insane amounts of Jell-O for him (Morgan would never forget about how the first thing Reid asked for after waking up from near-fatal Anthrax poisoning, ridiculously enough, was Jell-O; the "am hurt, need Jell-O" jokes went on for weeks). Garcia had even proudly presented Reid with the socks she'd knitted for him, then burst out in shameful tears upon realizing that he didn't need pairs of socks anymore. Reid had awkwardly comforted his friend, reminding her that he avoided wearing matching socks anyway and that he greatly appreciated the sentiment.

So yes. Reid would find out one way or another.

"Reid… Your doctor was killed."

Morgan watched as Reid absorbed this statement silently. His lips pursed, the corners of his mouth turning down. It was a look Morgan had seen innumerable times before, the face he'd make whenever he was processing information. Garcia jokingly referred to it as his "turtle face."

Finally Reid spoke. "Was there anything significant about the kill."

"Extreme overkill," Morgan said. "He sexually assaulted her with the knife, which he's never done before. He also tore out her hair and mutilated the body. He disemboweled her by hand."

Morgan heard Brandt's words replay hauntingly in his mind - "I've got my whole hand in his gut." He watched as Reid's fingertips ghosted lightly over his stomach, feeling tenderly at the stitches - and the hole in his stomach where Brandt forced his hand inside of him.

Elle had told Reid that after Randall Garner attacked her, she could still feel the man's fingers in her bullet wound. Morgan wondered morbidly if it was the same for Reid.

"He's angry," Reid said, calculating eyes hardened and staring off at something Morgan could only imagine. With a mind like his, the kid could probably recreate the crime scene as it was just going off of what little detail he'd given him. It was likely perfectly preserved in his mind, all the way down to how the poor woman's limbs were splayed out around her. "He didn't expect me to survive. He'll kill again," he continued, his focus shifting up to Morgan's face, his eyes wide. "He has to finish his ritual. And until he does he'll keep getting more and more aggressive."

"We'll catch him, Reid. It won't come to that. Just - we'll get him, okay?"

Reid quirked his head to the side and stared at Morgan. His hair was a wild nest of tangled ringlets, messy from sleep. Morgan thought he looked almost like a curious puppy that knew his master was hiding a treat behind his back.

"What?" Morgan shot as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly self-conscious with how intensely his teammate's eyes were boring into his face.

Reid blinked, and the spell was broken. "There's something else. What aren't you telling me?"

Morgan simply looked at him, keeping his face as neutral as possible.

"You're twisting up the hem of your shirt," Reid said by way of explanation, nodding his head at Morgan's hands in his lap. "It's your tell."

Morgan scowled, immediately stilling his hands and smoothing out his now wrinkled t-shirt. Even bedridden and drugged up, Reid was still a perceptive bastard.

Morgan leaned forward, pulling his feet off the bed. "Hotch got called away. And Emily. There was…an emergency."

"What happened?"

Morgan hung his head and set his jaw. "Foyet found Haley and Jack."

Reid practically jumped up in bed trying to sit up. He didn't say anything, but the alarm written across his face was clear. Whatever reaction Morgan was expecting, it wasn't that. Reid was usually very internalized with his emotions. It was surprising to see him acting so brazenly on instinct.

Morgan had to actually force Reid back down, pushing him back by his shoulders. "Stop - Reid, stop. Calm down. There's nothing we can do right now."

Sweat beaded on Reid's face and neck, and he allowed his exhausted body to be pushed back into the bed with little resistance. The heart rate monitor began to slow. Breathing heavily, he ran a trembling hand through his hair to smooth it away from his face. "Are they-? Are they…?" He licked his lips, looked up at Morgan through a curtain of hair. "…Dead?"

"No. Oh god, Reid, no," Morgan assured him instantly. "Foyet broke into their house. He left a message on the wall. But he didn't touch them. Hotch and Emily are going to investigate. I'm not sure what's going to happen now though."

"They'll have to move Jack and Haley again," Reid supplied, finally catching his breath.

Morgan nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. But that's the least of their worries now. If Foyet found them once, he sure as hell can do it again." Reid nodded quietly. His body sagged against the bed, worn out now that the adrenaline was leaving his body. Morgan watched as his left hand moved to his thigh, gripping weakly at the blanket covering his leg. Morgan looked down at him thoughtfully. "Does it hurt?"

Reid shifted self-consciously, drawing his hand away from his leg hastily. "The…medicine dulls the pain. Takes the edge off. It doesn't bother me so much." Morgan didn't back down, obviously not satisfied with the deflective response, and Reid appeared to give in. "You've heard of…phantom limb pain?" he asked, uncomfortably looking up at his teammate. "It's strange. I can feel this - this burning sting shooting through my whole leg - down to my foot and back up again. But I know it's not - it's not there. It's unnerving."

Morgan sighed helplessly. He felt so feeble, unable to provide any relief for his young friend. "Hey, kid. How about a distraction - you feeling up to answering a few questions?" He tried to keep his tone light, but his own apprehension shined through.

The slightest look of hesitation flashed across Reid's eyes, but then it was gone. He licked his lips and shifted his eyes downward, clearly not eager to discuss the particulars of his attack. "I don't remember a lot of details. It's…pretty hazy. What do you need to know?"

Morgan folded his hands together in his lap, leaning forward slightly in his chair. "Hotch and I profiled the crime scene. Looks like you put up one hell of a fight in there." He felt a small rush of pride at the shy smile on Reid's lips before he continued. "Brandt took your gun with him when he ran, Reid. But from what we could tell, it looked like you didn't try to use it. Do you remember what happened?"

Reid's features creased in deliberation. His eyes flitted back and forth rapidly, like he was turning the pages of a book in his mind. "I don't…" he began quietly, then he shook his head. "I remember he came up from behind me. I was, ah, standing up. In front of the whiteboard."

"Did you hear him coming?" Morgan encouraged gently. "Maybe you turned around and saw him."

Reid shook his head minutely. "No. It was quiet. I didn't hear anything. I just - I felt this pain. Like…an explosion in my knee. It was worse than the actual gunshot."

"What was it? Did he hit you?"

First he was silent, then Reid looked up sharply, remembering the details. "It was the knife. He - he plunged it into my knee."

Morgan's face screwed up in sympathy. "You went down."

"Yeah. And he was - he was on top of me so fast. I-I didn't have time to react."

"What happened, Reid?" prompted Morgan. "Do you remember what you did?"

The young genius closed his eyes in concentration. "I - I went for my gun. My left hand was on my knee, but I reached for my gun with my right. But he…" His eyes popped open with realization and he looked incredibly uncomfortable. Morgan waited patiently while Reid stammered out his answer. "His hand. He, um, his hand was on my - genitals. He…grabbed me and - squeezed. It - he diverted my attention just long enough for him to…" Reid trailed off wretchedly, ashamed.

"Reid…" Morgan groused. "It's not your fault, okay? Brandt knew what he was doing."

Reid gave him a tight, stiff nod, but it was clear he was still humiliated with what Brandt had done to him. "He had my gun. But he didn't use it. He - he ripped the knife out of my knee. But I wasn't… I managed to buck him off me. I…think…I elbowed him? In the nose."

"My man," Morgan gushed proudly, grinning now. Reid shrugged and huffed out a stifled laugh before continuing.

"It was enough to get him off me."

"Did you try to run?"

"No. I knew - in my condition I knew I wouldn't make it far. I could barely walk. I grabbed the first thing within reach."

"Your crutches," supplied Morgan, and Reid nodded his head in confirmation.

"I swung at him. I remember that." He paused, then narrowed his eyes. "I don't remember much else. I mean, we fought, but it was pretty one-sided," he admitted. "I'm sorry. I don't think there's anything else helpful."

Morgan was quick to reassure him, saying, "It's okay, Reid. If you remember anything else significant, just - you know."

"Yeah," Reid whispered softly, his voice resigned. "Yeah, I know. I will."

[…]

The morning had gone by quickly. After the discovery of Dr. Johar's body early in the morning, what remained of the BAU team had forgone sleep and went straight to work incorporating any new information into their profile. JJ and Garcia were still whittling away at the list of prospective hideaways for Brandt, Morgan had been holed up in Reid's hospital room, and with Hotch gone Rossi had assumed the role of team leader, delegating between the FBI and the Blythewood Police Department.

Sheriff Hadley had been quick and efficient about setting up patrol at the hospital. His officers were compliant and more than willing to pull extra shifts to do whatever they could to help catch Brandt and prevent anymore gruesome murders (one of the officers' younger sister had been the fourth victim, so their fire had substantial fuel).

Rossi had just been introduced to Dr. Althea Belcast, Reid's new doctor for the rest of his stay. She was a portly black woman in her late fifties with short graying hair. She had the wrinkled, tired eyes of an overworked woman on the verge of retirement, but she also had a sweet smile and a kind voice. She assured Rossi that Reid was in very good condition and that if he had any questions he wasn't to hesitate to call her directly.

Rossi had just turned away from Dr. Belcast when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Walking toward the nearest exit, he pulled the phone out to see Hotch's name lit up on the screen. He stepped outside and pressed the phone to his ear, and before he had the chance to utter even a word in greeting, Hotch's voice rumbled through the receiver like angry thunder. He could just hear Prentiss calling Hotch's name warningly in the background.

"We're coming back," he snarled, breath coming in quick puffs like he was running.

"Aaron," began Rossi calmly. "What's going-?"

"The blood work came back," Hotch continued, speaking over Rossi's voice.

"Well whose was it?" Rossi demanded.

"Sujeh Johar's."

[…]

Morgan, JJ, and Garcia sat hunched around their work table. This changed everything. And worse yet, it yielded no helpful new information. Morale had dropped significantly since Hotch's call a little over an hour ago.

"How are Brandt and Foyet even connected?" Morgan asked, his frustration at its peak.

"I don't know," cried Garcia defensively. "We combed through every freaking little detail of Brandt's life and I swear they've never crossed paths. These two are as dissimilar as apples and oranges. Psychotic apples and oranges, yes, but still. But, my sweets, The Galactic Network has never failed me before. Trust me, if there's anything there at all, and I do mean anything - a mutual Facebook friend, their grandfathers were in the Scouts together - if they both use the same brand toothbrush - you best believe I will find it and you will know as soon as I do. Holla."

"Any personal connections we've made so far have been so insignificant they're hardly worth exploring," JJ concurred, picking up where Garcia had dramatically left off. "Brandt dropped out of school when he was fifteen and he hasn't had contact with any old classmates as far as we can tell. He has a great-aunt and uncle but they live in Spokane and haven't spoken to him since he was a child. Beyond that - nothing. His parents were extremely neglectful and they practically isolated him from the outside world as a child. This guy literally doesn't have ties to anyone." She scrubbed viciously at her eyelids before taking a sip of her coffee. She recoiled at the dull, bitter taste of the lukewarm caffeine. "Ugh," she groaned, rising from her seat. "Coffee?"

"Please," said Morgan, handing off his empty Styrofoam cup. Garcia smiled thinly and shook her head, waving JJ off. Morgan stared up at the evidence board. Brandt's chilling visage glared back at him. He was a large man, physically fit; he'd have to be in order to so easily overpower and dominate his victims. His eyes were an ice blue, almost gray, and they looked hollow. Almost like they were gazing directly through Morgan's body from the photograph, paper tearing into flesh.

Unnerved, he tore his eyes away and shifted his concentration down the whiteboard. Fourteen women, all young, blonde, and beautiful. Smiling young women in the primes of their lives. And then, beside each image of each woman was another picture, this one macabre and grotesque. Bloody messes of torn flesh and exposed bone.

Then Reid's picture next to them. His employee profile picture, from when he first joined the team. He looked young, even for his twenty-two years. His face was pale and angular, his features striking in the bad lighting. He looked tired. He looked ill. Morgan wondered if that would ever change.

Beside that was a picture of the room where he was attacked. It was difficult to believe it had happened just a few days ago and just down the hall. It all seemed like several long lifetimes ago.

Next was Dr. Johar's picture. Her hair was down, tight black curls around her face. She was smiling, barely grinning. She looked shy, maybe inquisitive. In the next picture she looked nothing like the young woman she had once been.

Lastly, at the very end, George Foyet's mug shot had been pinned up, and a large question mark had been written on a lime green post-it note directly below that.

"We're better than this," Morgan mused out loud, irritated. The ticka-ticka-ticka of Garcia's fingers flying across her keyboard stopped suddenly, and Morgan looked up to see her staring at him curiously. "We're letting everyone down if we can't catch these guys. Reid, Hotch, Haley and Jack - the families of the fifteen women he's already killed. We've been here a week and we're no closer to catching Brandt than we were when we got here. And now he's gone and allied himself with the Reaper? We're supposed to be good at this. This is what we do."

Garcia's eyes softened, and when she spoke her voice sounded piteous. "Yeah, honey. And this is what they do. People like Brandt and George Foyet."

JJ stormed through the door, coffee forgotten, and she braced against the door frame. "I just ran into Sheriff Hadley," she panted, eyes wild. "There's been another murder. Inside the hospital this time."

[…]

Morgan and Rossi stood over the still-warm body of a deceased young man on the floor of the hospital's pharmacy. JJ had traded places with Rossi to sit with Reid, and Garcia joined her since Morgan wasn't comfortable leaving her at the hotel or the police station by herself.

"His name's Dylan Forsythe," Sheriff Hadley informed them. "Only been workin' here about two weeks. Just got outta college."

"Who found him?" Morgan asked, kneeling down closer to the body.

"Uhhh, lady named Gabby Kershaw. His shift was over, she was relieving him. She's giving her statement in a conference room down the hall. …Agents, they think he's been dead in here for a couple hours."

Rossi inspected the small pharmacy carefully, trained eyes scrutinizing every detail. "Nothing looks out of place. No drawers or cabinets left open."

"Everything's locked up still," Hadley explained. "Only the pharmacy tech on duty and the chief of medicine have keys. Dylan's are still in his pocket. When we're done the hospital's gonna run an inventory, make sure nothing's missing, but it looks like your guy didn't wanna steal anything."

"He's showing off now," Morgan fumed. "He's proving to us that even with our added precautions, he could still get to Reid if he wanted."

Rossi slowly shook his head. "I don't think so. This kill was quick and clean," he observed, crouching down beside Morgan to closer examine the slain young man. "Look - just one quick stab through the back of the neck - and then it's over. This wasn't about making the victim suffer or completing a ritual like all the others. This kill was out of necessity."

Morgan pondered for a moment, digesting the information. "So what did this guy have that Brandt needed?"

Before Rossi could think up a response, a young nurse barged into the room. Her eyes flitted momentarily to the body on the floor before looking up at Rossi, then to Morgan. She had the decency to look embarrassed for interrupting and flushed red before stuttering out her explanation.

"Excuse me, Agents - I-I'm so sorry. Dr. Belcast sent me - there's a problem - please, you need to come right away."

The two agents left Hadley with the crime scene and followed the nurse at a feverish pace to the wing of the building Reid was in. When they got to the door they were met with Garcia and JJ waiting anxiously outside. Garcia's face was white as a sheet and her brown eyes looked glassy, but she wasn't crying. JJ, although far from composed, looked very stern. Her body was rigid and her arms were crossed tightly over her chest.

As they got closer, it was easy to see the flecks of red on JJ's chin, her neck, on the collar of her white button-up.

"Is that blood?" Rossi asked, reaching out to finger the fabric of JJ's shirt. His fingers came away slick and wet.

JJ looked down, startled. Like she had just realized it was there. "It's - it's not mine."

"What the hell happened?" Morgan snarled, and JJ physically jumped at the timber of his voice.

"I - I'm not sure," JJ said. Her voice was austere, but there was a quiver there too. She looked up, her blue eyes wide with adrenaline and shock. "He was asleep." Her voice cracked and she bit the emotion back. "And then he woke up and started coughing. And the - machines started going off and - and he stopped breathing."

Morgan looked on, stunned. He looked over at the closed door, almost willing it to bow under his glare.

"I called for help," Garcia interjected fretfully. "Morgan, he was vomiting blood."

"Christ," Rossi moaned quietly.

"They kicked us out when he-" JJ swallowed thickly, running a hand over her blonde hair. "He flat lined."

"What-?!"

"It happened really fast," Garcia jumped in, cutting Morgan off. "He was fine. He was fine and then - oh god…" She shuddered out a breath of air, her shoulders shaking.

"Fuck. Fuck! Son of a bitch! What the fuck is going on?" Morgan bellowed out, his rage mounting.

"Morgan-" Rossi warned.

"No. No. I need to know how this happened."

JJ glared up at him, her eyes hardened defensively with tears and frustration. "We don't know," she ground out through gritted teeth. "And you're not helping."

"Not helping? None of us are helping!"

"You need to calm down." Rossi stepped toward Morgan, resting a firm hand on the younger man's shoulder, which Morgan immediately knocked off.

"Rossi, don't tell me to calm down! Look at us - all we've been doing is chasing our own tails since we got here. And we literally. Have. Nothing. Meanwhile Brandt and Foyet are killing right under our noses and they somehow still got to Reid." Morgan looked past Rossi at JJ, his face full of callus rage. "On your watch."

JJ balked at the blatant accusation. She unfolded her arms from her body and fisted her hands at her sides, stepping up confrontationally to Morgan, clearly indignant. "What the hell does that mean."

"It means I would never let anything happen to him!"

"Don't yell at her!" Penelope cried out. "You weren't in there, Morgan. JJ saved Reid - he stopped breathing and she gave him mouth-to-mouth until the doctors came in."

Morgan didn't back down, though he remained silent. He and JJ glowered at each other, nose-to-nose, before he spun on his heel to head back down the hall.

"Where are you going?" JJ called after him.

Morgan stopped, turned around, and clipped back over to JJ. When he spoke, his voice was a deep, menacing tremor. "Remember back in Georgia when you asked me if everyone blamed you for Reid getting taken by Hankel?" He let the memory sink in, sting at JJ's mind. "We did."

With that he stormed off down the hall and out of sight, leaving his broken team behind him.

It was about fifteen minutes later when Dr. Belcast, another doctor, and two nurses stepped out of Reid's room. Belcast looked solemn as she grimly peeled bloody latex gloves off her hands.

Garcia immediately jumped up from her seat. JJ perked up from where she was leaning against the wall, and Rossi stepped forward, hands in his jeans pockets.

"He's stabilized," the doctor began, though she looked anything but positive as she continued. "But we're going to have to rush Spencer to emergency surgery."

"What?" Garcia crooned miserably. "God, he's been through enough! Why won't that man just leave him alone?"

"What happened to him?" JJ asked as she laced her fingers tightly through Garcia's. "The blood…"

"Pulmonary hemorrhage. It's an internal hemorrhaging of the lungs," Dr. Belcast replied. "But this sort of thing doesn't just happen on its own overnight. We would've seen the signs. We've drawn blood samples and I'm going to have them rushed as a first priority at the lab."

"What, you think he was poisoned?" Rossi asked in near disbelief. It took only a second for all the pieces to click together in his mind. His mouth gaped and he turned abruptly to face JJ and Garcia. "The kid who was killed today."

"What?" JJ asked as her eyes narrowed in confusion.

"He worked in the pharmacy," he clarified. "Brandt could have killed him to get access to whatever drugs Reid is on. He could have tainted his medicine. It's at least worth looking into."

"Do you have any idea what could have caused a hemorrhage like this?" JJ demanded animatedly, whirling to face the doctor.

Dr. Belcast's lips quirked together momentarily as she thought. "It's going to be a short list. Some antibiotics, some chemotherapy drugs."

"Will it be something just anyone can purchase over-the-counter?" Rossi asked her.

Belcast shook her head resolutely. "No, absolutely not. Something this fast-acting and powerful - you'd need to have a prescription or have direct access to some very serious drugs to get it."

"I'll need that list as soon as possible, Doctor," Garcia said. The tears were now gone and replaced with a renewed, determined vigor.

"She can track prescriptions," Rossi explained to the bemused doctor before excitedly addressing his teammates again. "We've been waiting for Brandt to mess up, to make a mistake like this. He got cocky."

Garcia grinned wickedly, squeezing JJ's hand that was still interlocked with her own. "And now we've got him."

[…]

Ah, so there we are. Ending a chapter on a positive note is a new thing to me. There was A LOT of information in this chapter, a lot of stuff happened. I hope it all made sense.

So anyway, I seriously cannot thank you guys enough for reading this story and going on this adventure with me. Every review I get is more valuable to me than gold. Please stick with me - you're in for a ride, I promise.

Until next time!