What to do, what do to do? And then stupid, stupid, stupid. These thoughts followed Morgan as he paced back and forth in his living room. The former thought was mechanical, empty: the thought that made sense but did not have any weight. But the latter had become an unshakable mantra, a red, blinking sign in his head with words written in a foreign language. But who had he been referring to? Himself? Reid? The whole damned situation?

It wasn't an unfamiliar thought. Stupid, so stupid. He had heard it before, three times to be exact, when he had been in love. Because Morgan was not above love (even though he often tried to tell himself so.) He had been crushed by it, burnt and cut by it until he was nothing than a vengeful mess. Never again would he involve himself in something so distracting and dangerous, he had sworn to himself after the last Incident. For years it had worked: he had remained stoic and guarded, quick to dampen feeble spark that lit itself within him during every affair. So unreceptive had he become that he had effectively convinced himself that his Thing with Jordan was not love but rather a subtle way to get back at Percival for the first time. Percival and his promises, Percival and his after hour beers, Percival and his thick, suffocating words, "I see you. I want you. I know exactly what you want."

Stupid, stupid. So stupid.

For the first time in, well, a long time his heart had gotten the better of him. He should have gone after Reid. That would have been the safe thing to do. Follow him, see what he really knew, and then lure him back to the home (their home, a voice in Morgan's head hissed.) But instead he had stayed in the house and prowled about like a restless lion, throwing things, hitting things, suppressing the sudden raging urges that welled up within him. He couldn't bear to see the look of distrust on Reid's face again much less fully admit to himself that Reid was snooping around, possibly on his way back to Quantico to get away from him. This, then, was what had kept Morgan behind.

Stupid. What to do now?

It was nighttime now and neither Reid nor the half-heartedly summoned members that he had commissioned to look for Reid had gotten back to him. Rain lashed against the glass dome above the living room. How ironic, he thought, that the sky should be kind enough to rage and cry for him.

His phone rang and he pounced on it. Percival. He pressed the flashing End button and put the phone on vibrate, too anxious to shut it off. But it rang again, a third time, a fourth time, until Morgan suddenly realized that Percival could know something. On fifth ring he answered it. Before he could speak a high, careless voice wobbled over the line.

"I feel good. Duna-duna-duna-nuh. I knew that I would, now. Duna-duna-duna-nuh. I feeeeeeel nice. Duna-duna-duna-duna-duh, like sugar and spi-ice. So nice!"

"Percival!"

"SO NICE!"

"Percival!"

"I got-a-yew! You'll never guess what I just found." Percival often did this. He would call Morgan at all hours of the day and night and exclaim with childish jubilation 'you'll never guess what I just found!' Sometimes it was something meaningless like a broken Fanta bottle or a radio station playing Morgan's favorite song. And sometimes it was subtly cutting like an uncovered link to Morgan's old life or a freckle on Jordan's body. It was Percival's way of keeping Morgan tense every time he called.

"What is it?" Morgan said, gruff but curious.

"No, no. You have to guess, cowboy, that's how it works."

"I was hoping you'd have found something better to do with your time. But judging by this call, I guess not."

"Quit being a bitch and play with me. Come on, I'll give you hints. It smells…heavenly!" Morgan was silent and Percival went on with a satisfied air. "Mmm, god, yes, I could sniff this for days. And it's so soft, especially – oh, yeah – right there. Right in that spot. But hard, too! Soft and hard, hard and soft. Have you guessed yet?"

Morgan was beginning to feel as if he'd been tricked into participating in another one of Percival's kinks. He was about to hang up the phone when suddenly he was stopped dead by Percival's next words.

"And when you kick it – like so – it gushes red stuff from its mouth and makes a noise. Oh, man, I wish you could see its lips."

"What?"

"Like a pink diamond, they are. You know, a soft point at the top and bottom that kind of eases its way out at the corners…does it always wear sweater vests?"

"You son of a bitch."

Percival sighed. "Terry…it's almost like you don't want to play with me anymore. Oh well. If you change your mind, why don't you come meet me at the top of the Hawthorne building? I would love to show you this thing!"

Percival laughed. Morgan dropped the phone and ran outside, Percival's trailing song still ringing in his ears. This knife is made for one thing. And that thing's what it'll do. So if you don't come this young man's blood will be all over you.

#

Percival stood on the edge of the roof, looking down at the city through his cigarette smoke. The rain had slicked his clothes down until it clung to his skin, giving him a strange, leathery look. Monstrous, mysterious. He dropped the hand that held the phone to his side and continued to gaze silently. A few of his henchmen were there along the rooftop along with Jordan and Terrence. It was a black night, black splattered with silver and cut through with violent jabs of violet.

"I was expecting more from you." Reid said. He had been hit, bit, and fondled by Percival's men but he wasn't afraid of Percival himself anymore. As far as he was concerned the man was just a voice, no different than the voice at the back of Reid's own mind that swore and threatened addiction from time to time. Reid realized that his bravery might have been born of ignorance (after all, Percival hadn't done anything to him) but he couldn't ignore the fact that he had come to expect more than he had been given by the Company's leader. This disappointed him in a way that he was loathe to admit. Percival ignored him and Reid went on unfazed, hedging his bets. He had to consider this his field minus the team. A profile was his only tool. He had to play on Percival dramatically hidden insecurities. "A show."

"A show?"

"Of course."

"This ain't vaudeville, cowboy." Jordan yelled, her arms crossed. Reid ignored her and instead directed his words to Percival who still hadn't turned to look at him.

"Maybe not but…how else will you get me to give you all of what you want?"

"What I want?" Percival said, his shoulders tense. "And what do I want?"

"You want to know how much information I have. You think you've found out things about me but you're not sure if those things are true." At this point Terrence had hunched over, her arms wrapped protectively around her chest. Her eyes flit open – small, glinting slits in the light of the storm – and glanced at Reid. "Thing is…you don't know if you can kill me or not without inciting trouble."

"Oh, honey," Jordan smirked and sauntered over to Percival's side. "You don't frighten us."

"If that were true then you would have killed me already."

"Then what would you suggest we do?"

Careful, careful, Reid told himself. They weren't reacting in the way that Reid had expected. He didn't know the extent of the Company's knowledge. They could have known nothing but the bare minimum. Or they could have known everything and had a desire to keep him alive for other reasons. Why? That was the question. He had leverage, they had leverage. He could use that to his advantage. But every word was like a step on a weak ladder, one of them was bound to stumble over their own tongue. "I wanna make you a deal." Reid said. He licked the sweat from his top lip.

"Oh?" Jordan said. "What kind of deal?"

"The kind of deal that a Company like you would appreciate from someone of my standing."

There was a sudden clatter of footsteps on the stairway behind them. The door to the rooftop swung open and Morgan appeared, breathless. He took one glance at Percival and then ran to Reid. Once in front of him he hesitated, aware of the suspicious eyes turned towards him. He put his hand up to touch Reid's face but Reid flinched and moved away.

"Are you alright?" Morgan mouthed silently. Before Reid could answer Terrence jumped forward and spoke a few stuttered and breathless words before finding her voice.

"You see that?" She squealed to Percival, pointing a finger at the two. "You see that? I told you! They're in this together! They're working together, I know it."

"You know, Terrence, I really wish you'd shut your big mouth sometimes." Morgan said. Terrence ignored him and continued to gasp out her words.

"'member that paper I showed you, Percy? The one I took from the agent's bag? He's researching us and Terry's in on it. He's a….he's a…traitorous….traitor! And also Terry isn't even his real name! His name is Morgan! Derek Morgan!"

Morgan sighed and turned away in frustration. What a quintessential mess of things, Reid thought wearily, watching him.

"So I've heard!" Percival turned ever so slightly and gazed at Reid over his shoulder. A sudden crack of lightning illuminated his wet, grinning face. "Spencer? What do you know about Terry – ah! Excuse me – Morgan?"

Reid was silent. He was thinking of all of the lies that he had been told. He had been enticed and promised, tricked and made a fool of all because of Morgan. No, not Morgan, Reid reminded himself. Morgan was the man that he loved undeniably. Terry, the killer in Morgan, was the one that had tricked him. But who was the man, really? Eyes still on Morgan/Terry, he said, "Absolutely nothing."

It was his first big mistake.

"Pity," Percival said. He nodded and four men came forward. Two of them grabbed Reid by the arms and the others grabbed his legs. They carried him to the edge of the rooftop and flipped him over so that he could see the street below. It was so far away! Twenty three stories, Reid thought to himself. That's how high the Hawthorne building was. He could just barely hear the sound of Morgan struggling behind him over the rush in his ears. Percival was speaking. "See…I already have all of the influence that I need in your little station in Quantico. You don't think there are disgruntled employees, waylaid agents who just want a little adventure on the side? You study psychos! Of course you would have a few conversions in the BAU! No. I know everything about you and your little business. But apparently I know nothing about my Terry. And since you, Spencer, can't tell me anything and you, Morgan, won't tell me anything then it's Bye Bye Birdie to both of you! Throw the kid over the edge and bring Morgan to my office. Your death will be personal, Morgan."

"No!" The men heaved Reid over their shoulders and prepared to toss him over when suddenly Morgan gave a shout.

"Wait! Let him join us! Percival, please! Listen to me!" The men hesitated and glanced at their boss who was staring at Morgan with amusement. Morgan sighed and closed his eyes. "Let him become one of us. An agent and a killer. I will tutor him, teach him everything that he needs to know in order to redeem myself. And him."

"He doesn't have it in him."

"He does. He can prove it. Just…let me talk to him."

Percival was silent a moment and then he nodded, much to Jordan's dismay. Morgan shook himself free from the men holding him and ran to Reid. He caressed his face in his hands and wiped the rain away with his thumbs. His words were low and urgent.

"Look at me. This may be your only chance, man."

"I'm not going to work with a group of people who harm others for their own hedonistic pleasures," Reid whispered back, just as fiercely. "Morgan, let them kill me. I'd rather die than become one of them."

"No. No, they're not going to lay a hand on you. Because I need you. I need you right here by my side every day. I'll protect you."

"I don't need your blessings."

"But you need to know that you deserve to live. Reid, did I ever tell you why I kill? I kill the pardoned and unrepented bad men and women: the rapists and abusers who steal the innocence from children. Sometimes people deserve to die even when the law can't see it. That's why I joined the Company. I needed leeway to do what your justice system could not do. Remember a long time ago you told me that you thought that a serial killer could be good?"

Of course Reid remembered. He remembered every single word spoken then.

"So you're telling me that you think a killer can be good?"

"Good and evil is actually a post-conceived notion that we as modern day humans have latched on to considering the contradictory fact that if-"

"Hey, hey, hey. I'm asking for a straight answer here."

"Oh, you want a straight answer? Well, assuming the concept of good versus bad to be absolute then…yes. I do believe that a killer can be good."

"So a psychopath strangles someone in a back alley and you're saying that he still has goodness in him?"

"That depends on what drove him to do it. He may have heard voices which told him to kill in which case he probably felt like he didn't have a choice. Or perhaps he truly believes that he is doing the world a favor in strangling the man in which case he's…simply acting out of his own pre-conceived notion of goodness."

"Hmm. And you truly believe that?"

"I do."

"Time!" Percival sang. Morgan stepped away from Reid.

"That's what separates us from the rest of the Company. We're inherently good. They're not. Remember that." He pulled a knife from the belt of a nearby Company man and handed it to Reid. "There's someone here who was going to have you killed for their own leverage, an unrepented bad woman." Morgan said softly, quietly enough for Reid to hear. "Remember, Reid, if you choose to do it you're doing it out of necessity, not sick pleasure."

Morgan walked away from him until he was at the edge of the rooftop. There he stood looking up with the rain on his face and his hands in the pockets of his coat. Reid knew what he had to do but he could not bring himself to do it. Suddenly all of the commands that his mind sent out to his limbs seemed so empty and meaningless, flat. He felt like a tethered balloon waving above it all with no direction save for the whims of fate. Right now those whims were buffeting him hard in every direction but he still did not know which way to go. Should he harm her or should he allow himself to be killed? He could feel her gaze on his shoulders: two round pin pricks of black-and-brown light shining with worldly curiosity and faith. She was so young! But still she was a murderer.

Slowly he began to take small steps back. The rain mixed with the tears on his face yet still every one present could see the trepidation on the man's face. There were wedding rings sewn to her collar and each one represented a life that she had taken, a body that she had butchered. He made feeble attempts to recall the most vulnerable parts of the human anatomy when it came to a stabbing: the throat on either side of the trachea, under the sternum, behind the clavicle, kidney through the back, liver. And then there was defense to consider. But all he could think of were the rings.

He turned with a sudden cry and fastened a hand around Terrence's neck. Her eyes widened drastically and she gave a small gasp of surprise. Push me away, push me away, he begged hoping that if she defended herself he'd have a reason to postpone the final wound. But the girl was slow in responding and weaker still when she pushed him away. Still he yielded just enough for them both to pause and register the situation.

"No!" She cried out, her eyes hurriedly searching the rooftop for Morgan. "What're you doing?!"

Reid willed himself to finish what he had started and through the red haze of panic he rushed at her again, the knife held lower this time. She threw her hands out wildly, unsure of where the attack would come from, and ended up grasping him around the neck. There was an odd shudder and the handle of the knife bumped into her belly. For a moment Reid though that he had misaimed. Then Terrence gave a small cough in his ear as simultaneously a hot wetness began to coat his hand. Her arms tightened around his shoulders as her feet slipped out from beneath her, sending them both to the ground. The knife hadn't budged from her stomach. It was embedded deeper than he had thought. Slowly her head fell back and she looked up at him, her brown eyes glazed with horror. A stream of blood trickled from her lips and found its way to her hair which was spread out over his wrist. The rain had stopped. His tears fell as little droplets and rested, quivering, full, on her round face.

"Help me," she rasped. Her hands slid from his shoulder and found his fist which was still clenched around the handle of the knife. "Please?"

He shook his head. He was barely aware of what he was saying. "I can't do that, I'm sorry. God, you're so beautiful. Just…just hold on okay? I'll make it all end. Just hold on."

"Finish her." Percival said. Unbeknownst to Reid he was had come up behind them and was surveying the whole thing with a hungry eye. Reid shook his head, sobbed, and rested his forehead against hers.

"It doesn't feel right," she said, "It hurts. Oh God! Morgan! Morgan, help!"

"Shh, shh. Terrence, that's your name, right? Sorry, I just have to…" Reid closed his eyes and with detached, mechanical precision silenced her pleas forever. It seemed to take hours. Finally, when her eyes had rolled up, unseeing and her lips had fallen open in a stiff part, Percival squatted down beside him and took her pulse.

"Deaded, deadened, dead." he said. He turned his head and smiled a great, Chesire smile. But Reid could not see it. He was sobbing uncontrollably now, a strained, choked sob that echoed around the rooftop beneath the sound of the Company's applause. He clutched Terrence's lifeless body closer and whispered apologies in her ear. Morgan was silent. He was watching the morning sun spread on the city life below them. Percival stood up and spread his arms to the group. "Welcome our son! Welcome to the machine!"

Author's Note: Oh, Pink Floyd. You fit in everywhere. Thank you for riding along with this story (if you've gotten this far.) It was a lot of fun and very surprising at times. I had happily mapped out the plot years ago on a rock whilst camping on my own in the middle of the High Sierras. But when I sat down to finish it this morning it had taken a completely different turn, one that I'm both satisfied with and unsatisfied with. I want to tentatively end it here and let the reader's mind take the reins but I've also been thinking about continuing it, either in a sequel or with more chapters. I'm not sure about continuing it at this point but I'm willing to give it some consideration for those still interested. Also 'unrepented' is not a word apparently. What can I say? I make up words and do my own stunts.