A/N: Just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone who has already read-and reviewed!-Chapter One. I'm sorry to take so long to get Chapter 2 done, but man, it's hot around here. Anyway, hope this doesn't disappoint. Thanks, dears!

Warning for language and reference to non-con.

Seds

Morgan's plane landed at the Palmer Municipal Airfield at 7:52 PM. He gathered his things, exited, and looked around until he spotted the sheriff, then strode over to meet him.

"Sheriff Mueller? Special Supervisory Agent Derek Morgan, how're you doing?" Morgan had his hand out, and the tall white man in uniform paused for a fraction of a second before taking it. That told Morgan all he needed to know about the sheriff's racial attitudes, but Mueller nodded and said, "Doing all right, how 'bout yourself?" in a friendly enough tone. Morgan took it for what it was worth.

"Not too bad."

"That's good. Let's get on the road and I'll give you an update on the case." The sheriff gestured toward his vehicle and the two men started walking.

Once they were on the highway headed toward the county seat of Palmer, Mueller began. "So, we just got a positive ID on the victim. Name's Mary Amos, from Napierville, about twenty miles from here. She was a teacher. No idea what she was doing in Palmer, but her car was parked in a lot near City Hall. Had expired tags, so it's possible she came to renew them, but she never made it inside."

"I understand she was stabbed-did she die from the wounds, or-"

"She took one in the neck. Preliminary assessment says she bled out."

"On the spot where she was found?"

"Yeah, under a bridge."

"Sexual assault?"

"Most likely. The medical examiner's report hasn't come back on that yet."

"They're doing DNA testing too, right?"

"Of course, but we have to send it off to a lab in D.C. It's going to take a while."

"Tell me about this kid, Reid. Big guy? Is he violent?"

"He's a tall drink of water, but skinny. Well, except for, you know." The sheriff made a rounding gesture at his stomach. "No priors, no history of violence. He can be a surly little smart-ass, though."

"Sounds like a typical teen. You really think he killed her?"

The sheriff sighed, then cast a sideways glance at Morgan. "It's hard to say. He was found wandering in a daze, his hands covered with Mary Amos' blood. She was still warm when we got to her, so he had to have had something to do with it, but the weapon hasn't been recovered, so..." The man shifted in his seat and stared straight ahead. Morgan did the same, giving the man's words due thought.

"Stabbing someone to death's a messy business, Sheriff. Blood spatters, it spews and drips-he'd have had it all over himself, in his shoes, in his hair. It also takes a lot of strength and agility-a skinny six-months pregnant fifteen-year-old probably wouldn't be able to pull it off unless the victim was bound in some way. Any sign of ligature marks?"

"Yeah, but she didn't have anything on her when we found her." Mueller cleared his throat. "Look, I'm not disagreeing with you. But, the damn kid won't talk, won't cooperate-won't say what he was doing out there after dark, how he got blood on his hands, whether he saw anything-nothing."

"Is he refusing, or is he in shock?"

"Don't know. Look, he's one of them freaks, a breeder boy." The sheriff gave Morgan a meaningful look. "What does that tell you?"

"You tell me."

"They're peculiar. It ain't enough they can get knocked up-they're not right in the head, that's what I've noticed. Screwed up, in more ways than one." Mueller snickered at his joke and looked at Morgan for agreement. He maintained his studied, neutral expression.

"So-if you've observed some sort of emotional disturbance, maybe he should be in a psych unit instead of being held in a juvenile facility."

The sheriff snorted. "Juvenile facility? Hate to break it to you, Big City, but our 'juvenile facility' happens to be a cell at the far end of the jail."

Morgan's eyes narrowed. "He's being held with adult prisoners?"

"No, no, he's isolated. But, we don't have a separate building. Not a lot of juvenile crime around here, they all like to go up to Baltimore for that shit."

Both men fell silent for a couple of miles, then the short, ragged outline of downtown Palmer came into sight. "You want to talk to him right away?" the sheriff asked.

"Yeah. Please." Morgan took a deep breath. He wanted to get a look at the boy for himself, to see who he was, make a determination about what he'd done-and, maybe, to get an idea of what he needed.

Mueller drove to the stark building where the Sheriff's Department was housed along with the jail. He parked and pulled up his hand-held radio. "Take the Reid kid to Interrogation, will you, Hank?"

"Sure thing, Chief," a voice responded. The men got out of the vehicle and Mueller led Morgan inside. The smell of stale cigarette smoke, perspiration, and old public building hit Morgan as soon as they walked in. He followed Mueller down a long corridor to a dimly-lit room. They walked in and found a deputy seated at a desk; there was a large two-way mirror, and Morgan looked through it and saw the young man-Spencer Reid.

He was sitting at a scuffed metal table; a chair was in place across from him, and aside from that, there were no other furnishings. The walls had possibly once been white, but were now a smoggy-looking gray. Except for the boy's thick mass of long, wavy brown hair, his pale skin, and the blue of a denim shirt over a white tee, the sight beyond the glass was close to a monotone.

Morgan stepped closer. He wanted to size the kid up, figure him out before he ever walked into the room, but he could see it wasn't going to be that easy. The boy looked calm enough, almost as if he were waiting for a bus; but, his large eyes held turmoil as well as deep intelligence. He was skinny as expected-but, with his midsection hunched against the table, Morgan couldn't detect any sign of pregnancy.

The boy's hands were tightly clasped together on the table, and handcuffs glinted on his wrists.

Mueller went to the door and unlocked it, then indicated that Morgan should go in ahead of him. He walked into the room and the boy looked up. The placid expression left his face and he became wary. He leaned back, revealing his belly-a round protrusion straining against the cling of his t-shirt, as if a smallish basketball had been stuck up under there. He defensively slid his hands under the swell and looked from Morgan to Mueller.

Mueller strode to the table, then loudly slapped down a file folder, and the sharp noise reverberated in the room. Startled, the boy shrank back. "All right, Reid, this is Agent Morgan with the goddamned FBI. I'd suggest you quit being an asshole and tell him what the hell happened the other night, you understand?" He came around the table and bent down, hovering threateningly in front of the boy's face. Morgan heard him hiss, "This is your last chance, you little fuck. You better cooperate, or they're going to be cutting that kid out of you in a prison cell, get it?"

Spencer didn't change expression, but Morgan saw his lips purse together and he blinked rapidly. Mueller straightened up and huffed in disgust. "He's all yours, Morgan. Hope you have better luck with him than what we've had." He turned on his heel and walked out, locking the door behind him.

Morgan watched him leave, then said, "Hey," in a gentle-but-businesslike tone. "Like he said, I'm Morgan. May I call you Spencer?" Morgan sat down, and noted that the boy was observing him closely. He shrugged slightly, then nodded.

"Okay, Spencer." Morgan picked up the folder and flipped through a few pages, then set it down. He caught Spencer's eye and smiled. "So, how are you feeling?" He tipped his head, indicating the boy's belly.

Spencer shrugged again, but ran his hands over his stomach, as if comforting the child within. "I'm okay."

"Yeah? No nausea, that kind of thing?"

Spencer shook his head. "That went away after the fourth month." In a low voice, he added, "Thank God."

"Yeah, I remember my mom going through that-it's rough, man. Everything else okay? Do you know what you're having-boy or girl?"

Spencer shook his head. "'They haven't done a sonogram yet."

"Really? And you're, what, six months along? I'd have thought they'd have done one by now."

"They won't do anything that costs extra unless the adoptive parents are willing to pay."

Surprised, Morgan put aside his official line of questioning. "And, they're not? Don't they want to know what they're getting?"

Spencer held Morgan's gaze for a second, then dropped his eyes to his lap. "There aren't any. Yet. Usually, a white child would go pretty quickly-I-I'm sorry, I don't mean-"

"I know, I understand. Go on."

"But... It's harder, with someone like me. Particularly now that it's known that the, uh, condition may skip a generation. It's like trying to find adoptive parents for a child with a disability, you know? And, if the fetus is male, well-they know how difficult it will be for him. And for them. People think twice." He shifted his eyes to the side.

Morgan frowned. "What happens if no one-"

"Foster care." Spencer met his eyes and Morgan saw a flash of anger. "They won't let me keep it."

"Even if you wanted to?"

"No. Of course, as my father would tell you, that's the entire point of sending me away for the gestation period. So no one will know about my little... inconvenience." The boy rubbed the side of his belly and gave Morgan a grim look. "He certainly wouldn't want proof of his son's abnormality to come home to live with him."

Morgan paused for a moment, determined not to get completely distracted. "You know, Spencer, they're hell-bent on connecting you to this murder. Now, maybe you had something to do with it, or maybe you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time-but, whatever happened, you need to tell me the truth. I can help you. Okay?" Morgan studied the boy's face. He had regained his composure and had an almost mocking expression in his eyes.

"Are you really with the FBI?"

"Yeah, I am. Here." Morgan dug in his pocket and took out his ID. He laid it on the table in front of Spencer, and the boy studied it with interest.

"The BAU-wow." He looked up. "This is a BAU case?"

"No, not yet. I'm doing a consultation." Morgan gave him an encouraging smile. "You know about the BAU?"

Spencer nodded. "Oh, yeah. I'm very interested. I once got to tour the FBI facility in D.C. when I was a kid-this was before 9-11, of course-and I was fascinated. I even thought that, someday, I might..." The slight surge of enthusiasm in his voice dissipated, and he glanced down at his lap. "Well, that was a long time ago."

"Look, kid-I know you're dealing with a lot right now." Morgan gestured at Spencer's stomach. "It can't be easy, carrying the child of someone who sexually assaulted you. Someone you trusted. Maybe you acted out, maybe you lost your shit and-"

Spencer's face morphed into an amused frown. "You really think I murdered someone because my physics teacher forced himself on me?"

"Did you?"

"I-oh. I get it. You're good, Morgan." He smiled and shook his head admiringly, then looked down at his hands.

"Have you spoken to legal counsel?"

"I have. If that's what you want to call it."

"Was it explained to you that, in the absence of a statement from you, you'll be in custody until the DNA evidence comes back? Assuming it doesn't implicate you further."

"I understand that."

"And you're okay with it."

"Beats Emma Sanders' Home for Wayward Freaks. Trust me. At least I have a cell to myself."

"Not talking's not helping anything."

"It's fine." The boy's voice faltered a bit and he closed his eyes tiredly. "I really don't have anything to say to you, Agent Morgan. I'd like to go back to my cell now."

Morgan forced down a surge of impatience. "Listen. Maybe you didn't kill Mary Amos, but someone did. And, they probably didn't mention this to you, but there have been two other women murdered in a similar fashion, which means it's possible we have a serial killer on the loose. And, if that's true, he'll kill again. He might be looking for his next victim right now. So, if you know anything-if you saw something, heard something, anything-it could help put us on the right track and save lives. Understand?"

Spencer's eyes had widened. "Wait-two other women have been... When? Where?"

"That's beside the point right now. Let's focus on what happened the other night."

Spencer stared at him, his brow furrowed. Then, he looked past Morgan, to the observation window that appeared as a mirror from their side. He leaned forward as far as possible, given the expanse of his tummy, and whispered, "Are they listening?"

Morgan nodded. Spencer set his jaw and raised an eyebrow. Morgan understood. He stood up and rapped on the glass; Mueller came to the door and opened it.

Morgan's voice was firm.

"Cut the audio. Now."