Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and Mass Effect are the properties of CBS and Bioware, respectively.

Brief A/N: This story was originally an attempt to conceive a better Criminal Minds spinoff than Suspect Behavior, and it somehow got away from me. Roughly a year and endless pages of planning later, here I am publishing my first chapter. Briefly for background, this story takes place in the beginning of the fourth season of Criminal Minds, and in 2181 in the Mass Effect universe, roughly a year-and-a-half prior to the events of the first Mass Effect game. I hope to maintain as much continuity as I can, but I'm sure I'll make some mistakes. I've rated it T for now, but please contact me if you feel this rating is inappropriate. Finally, thanks for your interest, and I hope that you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it.

A Dream If There Ever Was One

Chapter One

They had only taken this case as a favor to San Diego's D.A., an old friend of Hotch's from law school, but even Hotch was beginning to think that they shouldn't have bothered. In the thirty-six hours since they had arrived, the only thing the BAU had managed to find was a third body. There was no apparent connection between the victims, not gender, race, socio-economic status, occupation, age, nothing at all that could help to establish a proper victimology. The only consistent factor was cause of death, but even that didn't make any sense: each of the three victims had died from some sort of aneurysm, despite showing no previous warning signs.

It was hard to describe the atmosphere in the D.A.'s office, which was serving as a makeshift conference room, as anything other than defeated. Even the normally implacable Hotch had his head propped up on his elbows, staring down at the case files.

"Hotch, I think we might have to face the fact that there might not be a case after all," Morgan said, looking at his supervisor over cartons of Chinese food that were already seven hours cold.

"So, you're saying three completely healthy people dropped dead of an aneurysm in the same week?" Prentiss asked, now lounging across the armchair behind Morgan. "I don't buy it."

"San Diego's a big place. It isn't impossible."

"But, supposing there is a case," Rossi interrupted. "I think we should focus on how the unsub met these victims, as it might be the only connection we can make."

JJ stood up and walked over to the bulletin board, staring at the pictures of the victims for what seemed like the thousandth time that night.

First victim: Christanna Johnson, twenty-two, African-American, poised to be Stanford's valedictorian, and the reason the BAU had been called in. The Johnsons were personal friends of the D.A. She was found dead in a hotel she had rented for the weekend. However, she had told her parents that she was going to visit her aunt, Meredith Johnson. Meredith had no expectations of such a visit. And, of course, the video monitoring system at her hotel was down for maintenance, giving the BAU no leads as to her killer.

Second victim: Dennis Goldberg, sixteen, Caucasian, and a junior at SCPA. He was found dead in the home he and his mother, Karen Goldberg, shared two days after Christanna's death. Karen had been out of town for the weekend taking care of her father, who had fallen and broken his hip, leaving Dennis alone.

Third victim: Mellissa Parker, thirty-one, Caucasian, and a substitute teacher separated from her husband, Doug Parker. She was found earlier that day, but died only one day after Dennis. The last person to see her alive was a fellow teacher when school let out at three. However, her autopsy indicated that she had died sometime around one a.m.

None of the victims' residences showed any signs of forced entry, implying that the victims either know their attacker or he was attractive and confident enough to charm his way in. After talking extensively to each of the victims' families, the team came to the conclusion that their attacker must have been a recent acquaintance, which left them with the unenviable task of discovering how one person could come into contact with three unrelated people and gain their trust so quickly. Furthermore, all three of the victims tested positive for heroin in their autopsy tox screens, despite the fact that none of them had ever used the drug before.

"It seems to me like Dennis Goldberg is the odd man out, literally. Why kill him then switch back to women with Mellissa?" Prentiss asked.

"Maybe he tried to branch out with Dennis, found he didn't like it, and went back to women again? That would explain the shorter time between kills." JJ furrowed her brow, still staring at the pictures.

"That doesn't make sense," Morgan said, "If I'm the unsub, and I choose Christanna based on her gender, when I kill her, I get some kind of release. So, next time I kill, I'm gonna choose another woman. I'm not gonna switch to a man and risk losing that feeling. Besides, none of the victims were sexually assaulted ante- or post-mortem. These kills aren't sexual."

JJ's phone vibrated on the D.A.'s desk, causing everyone to sit up a little straighter in their chairs. She smiled sheepishly before excusing herself to take the call outside.
"So, essentially, we just need to find an unsub with no physical type, a virtually untraceable M.O., and an unidentifiable poison in a city of over one million people," Rossi said, leaning back in his chair.

"We could revisit the crime scenes, or talk to the victims' families again; maybe they'll remember something," Prentiss suggested.

"Do you really think that would help?" Morgan asked. "Besides, they've already closed the crime scenes." He paused, taking a deep breath. "Sorry. It's just been a long day."

"I get it."

"So, that was the hotel," JJ said as she came back into the room, "and they can only get us three rooms. Because of the Con being in town, it was all they could get us on such short notice, so we're going to have to double up."

"Wait." Hotch stood up and walked over to the bulletin board. "What did you just say?"

"I said we're going to have to double up."

"No, you said the Con's in town."

"Yeah," Morgan said, "What about it?"

"That's the connection: Comic Con. It's the only thing that could have brought these three victims together. It would provide our unsub with a huge amount of potential victims."

"And not only in San Diego," Rossi said, catching on, "I think he works with the Con; that would explain why the killing only started a few days ago. If the unsub were a San Diego native, I doubt he would have just started killing now and escalated so quickly."

Hotch picked up the phone on the D.A.'s desk and quickly dialed Garcia.

"Hello, my lovelies, you're up late, or should I say early. I'm almost afraid to ask how many cups of coffee you've let Reid drink."

"Garcia, we think that our unsub is meeting his victims at Comic Con, so we need you to verify that Christanna Johnson, Dennis Goldberg, and Mellissa Parker attended the Con. Check credit card records and any video surveillance that could place them there," Hotch said.

"Okay; that's gonna take some time, though. I'll contact the Con first thing in the morning to get access to their cameras. Anything else?"

"Yeah. We need a list of everyone who travels with Comic Con; filter out anyone from the greater San Diego area," Rossi added.

"That, I can do no problem. Only thing is, that's still a ton of people. Anyone else I can weed out?"

"Not at the moment, no."

"Okay, then. I'll get this back to you sooner than you can say, 'Penelope, you're a genius.' Au revoir."

Unfortunately, Dr. Spencer Reid had missed the breakthrough of the last twenty minutes, as he was currently passed out face down on the conference table in the center of the room. They had finished with their last case two days ago, but he had received a call that required him to leave for Las Vegas immediately. Twelve hours later, the BAU was called into San Diego, and Reid showed up with little interest in discussing his whereabouts. This job had gotten him used to extremely long hours, but forty-eight hours without sleep was pushing it. This hadn't escaped the notice of the rest of the team, but they were politely ignoring it.

The sound of the receiver clicking into the base jolted Reid awake, causing him to nearly fall out of his chair in his haste to sit up. Morgan had to stifle a laugh.

"Sorry." Reid rubbed his eyes and squinted under the florescent lighting of the office. "I'm sorry. What was…What time is it?"

"It's quarter of two," Prentiss said.

"Reid, maybe you should go back to the hotel," Hotch offered. "You should get some sleep."

"Oh, no. No, I'm fine, really. I just need more coffee."

"If eight cups isn't doing it," Morgan said, "I don't think nine's gonna make much of a difference."

"Maybe we should all call it a night," Rossi suggested. "It'll be a few hours before we have any new information, and we've been up long enough anyways."

"Come on, kid." Morgan clapped Reid on the shoulder. "I'll fill you in on the way over."

Reid underestimated his grogginess as he stood up, stumbling over his own feet. Morgan put a hand on his lower back to steady him.

"Can you walk? Or do you need me to carry you?" Morgan smirked.

Reid felt his face flush.

So, of course, it was no surprise when Reid ended up rooming with Morgan, because he knew there was someone out there determined to make his life miserable. Not that he wasn't friends with Morgan. Frankly, he considered Morgan to be his best friend, and he thought Morgan felt the same way. He couldn't remember when their relationship changed from friendly coworkers to confidants, but one night found them talking until seven in the morning about Morgan's father's death, Carl Buford, the abuse, Reid's childhood, Tobias Hankel, Dilaudid, the dark thoughts Reid had never told anyone before. They never talked about these things again, and, were it not for the small things, Reid might have thought that none of it had made any difference. But Morgan stopped dragging him to clubs only to ditch him for the first woman who looked his way. Instead, they went to dinners, the movies, bars, all one-on-one. Even when they went out with the team, Morgan focused all of his attention on Reid. But that was it. They were simply very, very close friends.

And that would be one thing, if it weren't for all the touching. There was always a hand on his shoulder, an arm at his back, hugs after a particularly difficult case, and he was constantly being tackled or shoved into walls whenever an unsub pulled a gun, despite the fact that Reid was fully capable of taking care of himself. Reid was fairly sure that friends didn't touch each other this much, but, then again, he'd never really had many friends. This just left Reid extremely confused whenever he was with Morgan, which was pretty much all the time. Coupling that with a dry spell that was far longer than Reid would ever like to admit, and Reid was about ready to go out of his mind.

So, he was thankful that tonight he was so exhausted that he could avoid dealing with any of this. As soon as they entered the hotel room, Reid dumped his bags on the floor, took off his shoes, and collapsed on the bed nearest to the door.

"You even gonna change?" Morgan asked, and Reid could tell he was smirking even though his eyes were closed.

"No," he said into his pillow before passing out.

"Reid," a voice said very close to his right ear.

Reid groaned and rolled over.

"Reid, wake up."

Reid opened his eyes to see Morgan's face about six inches from his own, but he was too tired to be alarmed.

"I don't want to."

"I just got a call from Hotch; they found a fourth body."

"What time is it?"

"Quarter of three."

Reid sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. "Okay. I'm awake."

Morgan was already starting to pack up his case files. "The victim's name is Ayano Matsushima. Her roommate found her twenty minutes ago in their apartment; so far the M.O. matches. Hotch and Rossi are interviewing the roommate, and they need us to go to the apartment and see if there's anything that could help."

Reid slid on his Converse and grabbed his messenger bag. "Alright. Let's go."

"I knew I recognized the name," Reid said, picking up a picture of a petite Japanese woman from the end table by the front door.

"What?" Morgan moved past him into the kitchen.

"Ayano Matsushima. She's pioneering new forms of social networking. Her website is essentially a matchmaking site for people looking to create projects based on similar interests."

"You know all this, but you still won't accept my friend request?"

"I read it in my CalTech newsletter." Reid moved into the living area. "Besides, I don't see the point of Facebook. Telling everyone what you're doing all the time: 'Spencer Reid found another dead woman today.' That's a great status update."

"Yeah, well, maybe if you did something besides work, you'd have something else to write about." Morgan pulled the trash can out from under the sink. "I've got a syringe here."

"Heroin?" Reid asked as he checked under the couch.

"Probably." Morgan slid on a latex glove. "It's sitting right on top."

"That doesn't sound like our unsub. He's far too meticulous to leave evidence lying around."

"Not if Ayano injected the heroin willingly and only her prints are on the needle." Morgan dug a bit more in the trash. "Everything else is pretty standard, except this." He held up a neon green strip of paper.

Reid popped his head out of Ayano's bedroom. "What's that?"

"It's a band from a club. Looks like Eternity. It's the same band Mellissa Parker was wearing when her body was found."

"Two of our victims visited the same club right before they died? That's more than we had before."

Reid opened the drawers to small dresser, but there wasn't anything besides clothing. Same with the closet. Nothing looked out of place; maybe they hadn't even reached the bedroom before Ayano died. He was about to rejoin Morgan in the kitchen when he saw something black poking out from underneath the bed.

"You find anything else?" Morgan called.

"I think so." Reid slid on a glove and picked up a black clutch. "It looks like she dropped her bag."

Morgan walked over to inspect Reid's find. "Anything in it?"

Reid unzipped the bag. "Nothing unusual. Cash, some credit cards, her license." He pulled out a silver bracelet. "And this."

"That's a medical alert bracelet, right?" Morgan asked as his phone buzzed in his pocket. "Hang on." He pulled it out to answer the call. "Morgan. Hey, Hotch, let me put you on speaker." Morgan pressed a button and held the phone out in front of them. "Alright. Got for it."

"We finished talking to the roommate, and the M.E. just faxed her report. Ayano Matsushima didn't die of an aneurysm."

"You're not thinking that this isn't our guy, are you?" Morgan asked.

"No," they heard Rossi's voice say, "It's definitely him. The M.E. found injection marks and heroin in the victim's blood stream. And her roommate was out of town visiting her boyfriend; exactly what our unsub is looking for."

"Then how did Ayano die?" Reid asked.

"Cardiac arrest," Hotch said.

"Did she have a heart condition? We found a medical alert bracelet in her purse," Reid explained.

"Yes, an arrhythmia that was exacerbated by the drugs. The heroin killed Ayano before our unsub had the chance," Rossi said.

"Okay; well, Reid and I will finish up here and let you know what we find." Morgan hung up the phone. "Great; another dead end."

"Not necessarily," Reid said, putting the clutch down on the bed and beginning to pace.

"Still no connection between the victims, still no evidence." Morgan looked up at Reid. "And can you stop that? You're making me anxious."

Reid stopped pacing and shot Morgan a look; he was already frustrated enough with him as it was. "I'm just trying to think."

"So, what do you got?"

"We keep saying there's no connection, but what if there is?"

"What do you-"

"Just hear me out," Reid interrupted. "Christanna was going to be valedictorian at Stanford and going to Harvard Medical School in the fall. Ayano graduated from CalTech-"

"So, they're both geniuses. But Dennis and Mellissa weren't."

"Well, not in the same way, no. But Dennis Goldberg was a junior at the San Diego School of Creative and Performing Arts. He's a pianist, and, based on the number of trophies we found in his room, a very good one." Reid rubbed his temples, trying to get his sleep-deprived brain to work faster. "And Mellissa…Mellissa's a painter. One of the teachers at the school she taught at said she thought Mellissa went to the gallery after school. She had an opening in three days. What do you want to bet that this was about to be Mellissa Parker's big break?"

Morgan narrowed his eyes. "What are you saying?"

"Each of our victims was in some way extraordinary. So, yes, a genius."

"It's a good break, Reid." Morgan rubbed his hand over his eyes. "But I don't see how that's gonna get us any closer to our unsub."

"Unless…unless we bait him."

"'Bait him'?"

"Well, our unsub didn't kill Ayano tonight, and he's been escalating. He needs to find another victim and fast. What if we give him one?" Reid looked over to Morgan.

"No," Morgan said firmly.

"We know that Eternity's his preferred hunting ground. That's only ten minutes from here. It might be our only chance to get this guy."

"Absolutely not, Reid. And do you honestly think Hotch is gonna okay you for this?"

Reid crossed his arms. "Hotch doesn't have to know."

"Are you kidding me?" Morgan was almost shouting. "There's no way I'm gonna let you do this!"

"Well, frankly, Morgan, I'm not asking for your permission. Contrary to what you might think, I'm an adult, and I'm fully capable of making my own decisions!"

"Really? 'Cause that's not what I see." Morgan sighed. "What makes you think he could even find you?"

Reid shrugged. "Nothing; I guess. But if he does, I could get a name, maybe even make an arrest. If not, I spend an hour drinking alone at the bar."

"Please. Like you'd be alone." Morgan's tone of voice sobered, "We do this on one condition: you don't go after him without me backing you up."

"Got it."

Five minutes in Eternity reminded Reid why he hated clubs. He really could never understand why people could willingly subject themselves to refurbished warehouses filled with stagnant air, irritating music so loud that you actually felt it, not to mention the inescapable masses of sweaty drunk people who always managed to bump into him no matter how hard he tried to avoid them. He ordered a drink and stood by the bar, trying very hard to appeal to a serial killer.

He really had no idea why he had pushed Morgan so hard for this. Though it was true that it may be their only break, there was very little chance that this was going to help. But he needed the distraction, anything to keep his mind off of Morgan, his mother, the headaches.

After nearly forty-five minutes, Reid was ready to call it a night. Morgan was waiting for him outside, and it was almost four. That hour-long nap had done little to get rid of his exhaustion; it still felt as though his brain was clogged up with sludge.

"I've been watching you," a sultry voice said into his ear.

Reid wheeled around quickly, coming face-to-face with a beautiful blue woman.

"Don't look so alarmed. I model at the Con," the woman explained, keeping her face as close to Reid's as possible. "The paint's so difficult to wash off. But I think it's quite interesting, don't you?"

"It's certainly attention-grabbing."

"As are you." The woman smiled, tilting her head to the side. "But, I'm sure you already know that."

"I do?"

"You're different from anyone else in here. You're not taken by the…pleasures of the flesh. You've transcended humanity's baser nature. You're discerning." The woman slid her hand over Reid's arm.

"And you know all that just from watching me?" Reid asked, attempting to get the woman to give something away.

"I read people."

"Who are you?"

The woman chuckled. "Names aren't very fun. They make everything so…average. You and I, we're not average."

The buzzing in Reid's head had been steadily increasing throughout his conversation, and it was now so loud that he could hardly hear his own thoughts. Keeping track of the woman's statements and forming the proper responses was becoming impossible. The club was blurring in his peripheral vision, and even though he could feel the bass, he couldn't hear the music anymore. But he could still hear every word the woman said as if it were pounding inside his head.

The woman moved her hand up Reid's arm to play with the cuff of his rolled shirt-sleeve. "Let's get out of here."

"Okay," Reid heard himself say.

The woman smiled.

Reid closed his eyes momentarily to clear his head. Was there any chance that he'd been drugged? He hadn't touched his drink since he ordered it, so he couldn't understand what could possibly be affecting him this much. It was getting more and more difficult to think. He knew that he should get out of there – this woman was certainly the unsub, and she was certainly dangerous – but he needed her to incriminate herself. Otherwise, they'd never get this close to her again.

Or she'd kill him. One of the two.

When Reid reopened his eyes, he found the woman's face a mere four inches from his own. The strobe lights caught the angles of her face, and her eyes were an abyssal black, pulling him closer.

"Look into my eyes and tell me you want me. Tell me you'd kill for me. Anything I want."

Reid looked straight into her eyes, and smiled. "I don't think so."

Morgan was pacing so fervently outside of the club that the bouncer was starting to look at him suspiciously. Morgan quickly flashed his credentials without breaking stride. It had been more than an hour, and Reid was still in there. He was really hoping the kid wasn't trying to play the hero; Morgan couldn't live with himself if anything happened to him.

It was probably nothing; Reid was probably bored out of his mind, turning down everyone hitting on him, and wishing he could have brought some Proust novel to keep him company.

Morgan was so relieved when he felt his phone vibrate that he almost dropped it in his haste to answer it.

"Reid. You scared me, kid. I-"

"No time," Reid's voice sounded strained, like he was breathing hard. "F.B.I. Out of my way!" Reid shouted to the crowd. "Sorry. Our unsub's a woman. She's blue."

"Blue?"

"Yeah. It's paint. Not the point. She ran."

"I can tell. I'm calling for backup."

"We can't. We'll lose her." Reid stopped speaking for a moment, and Morgan could only hear Reid's breathing and the noises of the club. Suddenly, there was a loud bang.

"Reid? Talk to me, kid."

"Sorry; she knocked over a table. Oh, and, um, she may or may not have drugged me," Reid tried to say this last part quickly enough to get it past Morgan's notice.

"What?" Morgan nearly yelled, "Reid, you need to get out of there now."

Reid didn't respond.

"Dammit, Reid. Get your ass out of there now!"

There was a loud crash and a cry of pain that was unmistakably Reid's.

"Spencer!"

The line went dead.

I apologize for the line breaks. I wanted to use spaces, but was letting me save it in the formatting I wanted to. If anyone knows how to circumvent this, I'd greatly appreciate it. Also, thank you for any reviews you choose to leave.