Everyone regrouped at the police station. By then it was nearing three in the afternoon and fatigue was wearing on all of them. The chief of police had set them up in an available conference room with a fully-stocked sideboard, and Reid automatically flocked to it the moment that they convened their meeting. They compared notes on the crime scenes and interviews taken, working through the modus operandi, signature, and motive. It was clear by now that, despite wildly different victimology, these abduction/murders were connected. Portland had a serial killer. Reid remained on the periphery, listening to them converse.

"Each pair of siblings had somethingthat set the unsub off."

"Maybe it's about separation. You know: abandonment issues? He keeps them safe for six whole days, and he keeps them together. He isn't trying to cause anguish by killing one or hurting one."

"But what acts of abandonment could these kids have possibly committed? They were all still living with each other, for Christ's sake!"

"Emma Hastings was about to leave for college…?"

"Yeah, but the Wright twins were grown and they leased a townhome together. They were closer than any siblings. What could they have done wrong?"

"They had a third roommate moving in soon. The sister's boyfriend."

"That's a stretch to abandonment. But then again if the unsub sees himself in these young men, then he's looking for any hint whatsoever of potential abandonment by the sisters."

"He probably had a sister. Who moved away or died."

"This is verging on utter speculation you guys. We need more."

Reid walked back over to his own personal whiteboard that he'd been given, still stirring the final spoonful of sugar into his third cup of coffee. When he'd taken the excuse to return to the station in order to escape Morgan's presence, the detectives there had seemed to pick up pretty quickly on the fact that he was different. Not in a second-gendered way—no, they hadn't figured that out yet—but in an awkward genius way. They'd supplied him his whiteboard and maps and reference materials easily each time he'd asked. And after such a difficult time of it with Agent Morgan that whole morning, it'd been nice to just have people listen to him for once.

Now the sun was dipping down from mid-day, breaking through the blinds of the windows as Hotch debated the significance of this or that with Rossi, as Morgan talked through possible abduction scenarios with Prentiss. Reid tuned them out for the most part, squinting at the map he had drawn. It was crude—Reid never claimed to be an artist—but he could understand what the marks meant and that was all that mattered.

"You got anything yet, pretty boy?"

Reid glanced peevishly over his shoulder at Morgan. Was that his new name now? A demotion from 'Kid'? He was surprised that the other agent had the gall to call him anything at all other than Dr. Reid. Reid bit his tongue to keep from issuing a snarky reply. Morgan would likely only get all alpha-y on him again if he did. "The unsub is a local, but not just that. He's lived here most of his life. His knowledge of the area is too intimate to suggest a recent move. He knew where to leave the bodies so that they could be recovered by the families, but not recovered too soon. He's probably not keeping them in his home. People in an area this densely populated would notice something. A more rural property is a possibility."

"What else have you found?" Hotch asked, trying to put Reid in a role of command for a while. It seemed to help the agent's nervous behavior when he could be the expert on things. Given the way that Morgan had rattled him earlier, Hotch figured that Reid could use a little reassurance. He didn't want his entire team falling apart the second he took a leap and allowed an omega into the BAU. "Dr. Reid?" he prompted.

"Oh." Spencer turned to the board, pointing to it as he spoke. "The unsub has a clearly-defined comfort zone. He only abducts from within the city limits of Portland. Though it would feasibly be easier for him to kidnap adolescents from some of the more affluent, neighboring suburbs, he avoids these. I think he's going off of familiarity. He didn't grow up in those well-to-do areas and so he doesn't feel comfortable working from there."

Morgan nodded his agreement. "If what you said about the unsub identifying with the victims is true, then that makes sense. These kids were all middle-class. Nobody was poor, but nobody was rich. Maybe our guy grew up in the same income bracket."

Reid nodded. "Right." Again referencing his own drawing, Reid elaborated, "If our unsub is in his twenties, maybe his late twenties, then his formative years were largely in the early and mid-eighties." Reid used an orange marker to circle a portion of a blowup of the real city map that the cops had supplied him with. "This circle is his hunting grounds. We should figure out what these neighborhood populations were like during those years. That could help us figure out more about how he lived."

Morgan felt impressed, but he didn't let it show. The kid was leading the discussion like a miniature version of Hotch. Where had the twitching nerd gone? Put him in front of a whiteboard, apparently, and Spencer Reid became a whole different person. Morgan knew that he was spending too much energy thinking about Reid. He should be thinking about the case. But he couldn't help it. Ever since his outburst at the other man in the Hastings' home, Morgan had been keenly attuned to every reaction he might provoke—accidentally or purposefully—from Spencer. It didn't help that the kid was sweating a little in the stuffy conference room, marking it with his scent. No one else could notice, but for Derek the heady smell was getting worse and worse. It made his head feel fuzzy, made it hard to focus on simple details of the case. He knew that Spencer had to be feeling it too. There was no way the other agent wasn't fighting the urges just as hard as he was. Even the embarrassing ones. What the hell had Reid so hyped up? Morgan wondered. He would have thought that their hasty truce, made upon reunion at the station, would have eased the tension a little bit. But all Reid seemed to be doing was getting worse. Morgan had to wonder if it was the coffee.

The Portland officers all crowded around the sides of the station's large squad room. By the sheer number of bodies present, it was obvious that some officers who'd been off duty had been called in just to hear this briefing. The team stood gathered around Hotch as their unit chief prepared to deliver the profile. JJ and Morgan stood nearest Hotch, while Rossi was behind and Spencer had chosen to stand as far to the side of the room as possible. He had a handkerchief out as Prentiss approached him. She watched him blotting the perspiration from his brow. "Reid?" she asked quietly, "are you alright?" She eyed him with concern, noticing that he looked flush.

Reid gave a grimace of a smile, feeling his stomach curling up in knots. "Ah, not really," he chuckled. "I feel kind of…" he stopped talking as he felt another shiver roll across his skin. Emily didn't seem to notice.

"What?" she asked. "Kind of what?"

Spencer tucked his lips in, shaking his head. "Nothing. It's nothing. I'll be fine." He forced a more convincing smile on. "Really. Let's just focus on this profile, okay?" His tone made it clear that he wanted to get back to the matter at hand, so Prentiss stepped back, letting it go. Grateful that he could at least stand alone to try and concentrate on what they were supposed to be telling the assembled officers, Reid listened more intently as Hotch announced,

"We're looking for a man. White and in his mid to late twenties. He's from the area, so not only does he know his way around, he blends in. He looks like you, talks like you, acts like you in public."

Morgan stepped forward. "The man we're looking for would not impress you if you saw him on the street. He has an average or slighter than average build. He lacks confidence in almost every area of his life, but most especially in social interactions. He has poor posture, hesitant speech, things like that. People who are around him long enough to talk would classify him a loner. A nerd."

Next it was Rossi's turn to speak. He said, "This man longs for attention that he does not get in his real life. When he abducts these siblings, he uses them to feel important, to feel loved."

The team looked over to him and Reid swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing forcefully in his throat. "He identifies with the socially-inept males he takes. He doesn't feel animosity towards his victims. He only kills them because his fantasies, whatever they are, are not attainable. Every time the people he places his hope in—his victims—fail him, he is driven to find another chance. A replacement."

Hotch took over again, warning, "The most dangerous thing about him is that he seems normal. He appears trustworthy. His victims are not afraid to invite him into their homes. He incapacitates his victims with injections of barbiturates and kills by feeding them cyanide. Because of this, there is a strong possibility that whatever he does is medically-related. His methods may seem clinical, but he is heavily emotionally involved with each set of siblings that he takes. Every failure, every time he has to kill, is a crushing blow to him. That's why he shows remorse at his dump sites. He is not a sexual sadist. Whatever he wants, he truly believes that he is going about getting it in the kindest way possible."

"He will not stop," Prentiss added gravely. "He's from a middle-class family but he is smart, and educated. He's gone to college for at least a year. He has a technical job, maybe medical, but he works alone for the most part. What he does affords him enough time and privacy to capture and keep these people in a secluded location. He may take them out of the city for the duration of their captivity."

JJ stepped forward. "You should increase patrol activity in this quadrant of southeast Portland," she indicated the highlighted circle of Reid's map that'd been rolled out to display. "Seeing cops on the street will deter him, at least for a little while. Canvas roads leading out of the city. Look for larger vehicles; trucks, vans. He is driving one."

One of the cops near the front leaned forward with a question. Hotch acknowledged him and the man asked, "We've got highways and interstates going six ways to Sunday here. This is where all the major trucker routes start or finish. How are we supposed to canvas that? How do we know he won't just get the hell out of dodge and leave?"

Morgan shared a look with Hotch before answering. He was the last BAU member to speak as he offered the cop a blunt reply of, "We don't."

Hotch had his phone out, reading the information that had just been emailed to him. "Looks like the crime scene techs analyzed the shoeprint found outside of the latest victims' house," he told Emily, who sat beside him. Hotch frowned. "It's a men's size ten."

"If it's the unsub's, he's small like we thought."

"What's a Dansko?" Hotch asked, frowning at the word.

"Oh! It's a brand of clog," Emily supplied. "My hair stylist wears them. Doctors and chefs wear them, I think."

"That's another drop in the 'medical professional' bucket," Rossi said. "This profile could pan out."

Reid burst back into the conference room just as Morgan was dialing Garcia's number. "I've got it!" he exclaimed, clearly excited. The bottle of water that he held in his hand sloshed with his movement. He'd been cut off from coffee an hour ago.

Hotch and Prentiss shushed him with gestures, indicating Morgan on the phone and asking him gently, "What is it?"

Reid blushed. He hadn't meant to act so hyper. "I found a point of intersection," he told them, forcing his words to come out at a normal pace. He took a sip of the water to aid him in this goal. "Between the victims. I was looking at the lists the families provided of their itineraries for the two weeks before the abductions."

"And?" Hotch asked eagerly.

"And they all have one thing, or rather one place in common," he grinned and sipped from his water bottle again.

"Garcia, good white witch of the world wide web. What magic do you desire?"

Interrupted, Spencer squinted, wondering what the heck—

"Hey momma, it's me," Morgan murmured at the conference table.

"Oh, FINALLY." Penelope Garcia's sensual voice filled the small room. Morgan had put her on speaker phone. "Hellooo, my luscious chocolate demi-god."

Spencer nearly choked on his sip of water, before Rossi managed to reach out and hit him on the back. Morgan was speaking sultry right back over the phone. "Hey baby girl, had to hear your voice. We're still waiting on those financials. Tell me you've got something good."

"Oh, sweet lips. I'll always give it to you good."

"You know I love it when you talk dirty to me."

Spencer felt a blush creep up his neck at the obvious innuendo. He was shocked to see the rest of the team sitting around placidly as if this were completely normal behavior. Reid looked askance at Morgan. Maybe for him it was. All Reid could think was that now he probably knew what Morgan sounded like when he talked dirty in bed. …Oh god! He didn't need to think about that ever! Reid gulped more of his water, feeling his core tighten uncomfortably even as Penelope veered into more civil conversation,

"I know a secret about where all three of your families have been spending thousands of dollars," she confided haughtily. Spencer and the rest of the team imagined all sorts of possibilities: gambling, drugs, prostitutes… "Ortho. dontia." The one word was enunciated heavily. "Ring a bell?"

…No one said anything.

"Yes!" Reid hopped forward, jarred out of his shock at having imagined Morgan's bedroom voice. "Yes. That's what I came in to tell you."

"Agent Reid?" Garcia asked over the line, "Is that you, cutie pie?"

Reid stammered. "Um. Yes?"

"Well sweet cheeks: do you want to tell them or should I?" She waited, and Spencer couldn't keep himself from saying,

"There's a dental practice operating out of southeast Portland. All the victims had business there."

Garcia made a sound of approval over the phone. "He's right. Looks like… braces for James Copeland, a job interview for Noah Wright, and for Miss Hastings…"

"Wisdom teeth," JJ said suddenly. Everyone stared at her.

"Yeah," Penelope supplied over the line. "I've got a payment of two hundred fifty dollars, x-rays ordered on Emma Hastings. How'd you know?"

JJ shrugged, "The parents mentioned her having to come back her first college break for the surgery."

"Anything else you can tell us?" Morgan asked.

"Just that they all had deliveries from that office scheduled. Retainer, paperwork, and x-ray prints. There's no indication if the deliveries ever arrived but… couldn't that be a way to get close to them?"

"Yes," Hotch was confirming, "it's possible. Garcia I need you to find out if calls were made from the dental office to the victims just before the abductions."

"Way ahead of you. They all got calls. From the same phone in the building, too. That extension belongs to… Ah. An Elijah Forrester. 'Assistant dental hygienist'."

Spencer's eyes bugged out of his head a little. He was pretty sure it was illegal for Agent Garcia to have a way of knowing that information so quickly.

"Text his address and the address of the dental office to my phone. Oh, and Garcia? Good work," Hotch praised.

"Well it's your one connection. There's zippo else that I can find between these kids," Garcia all but apologized in her cheerful tone. "Hope that pans out. Call me if you need me to weave any more of my clever spells, though with your new boy genius there I'm currently feeling a little less magical."

"Thanks momma, you're always magical to me." Morgan ended the call, and everyone looked around at each other. So they had one possible lead, and vague as it might be, it was still a connection between all three sets of victims. Each profiler knew they were all thinking the same thing: that if this panned out, then it meant that their unsub either worked at the dental office, or was a patient there. Clearly, they now had things to do.

Hotch was quick in handing out the order. "Everybody to the cars." They all moved to comply, and when it was just Hotch and Reid in the room he held the new agent back to tell him privately, "Garcia got the credit on that break, but she had tens of thousands of dollars of computers helping her figure out in hours what you worked out on your own in twenty minutes."

Reid didn't know what to say. So he said what he always wound up saying in way of an explanation: "I'm a genius."

Hotch removed his staying hand from Spencer's arm, again taking mental note that the other agent clearly found such casual contact uncomfortable. He tried to look warmly at the man instead. "Yes, you're a genius. You're also Gen2. And you're also good at your job. It's completely up to you to determine which, if any of those things, you want define yourself by." Reid looked at him, stunned or maybe flattered, but either way with no useful response. In the end Hotch didn't demand one from him. He simply walked out of the conference room assuming that Spencer would follow. And he did.