"How can I be substantial if I do not cast a shadow? I must have a dark side also If I am to be whole"

-C. G. Jung

A/N: I haven't seen the episodes with Maeve, or with Tobias so please correct me if I have made any mistakes. I want to reference them, because the situation calls for it.

It was late in the evening, and most of the police officers had gone home for the night; yet still the BAU hung around the office in Nevada. Reid was not with the group, and that was exactly why they were gathered there.

"I tried to talk him out of it, but I've never seen him acting so... delinquent,"

"Can you explain that in any greater detail?" Rossi pressed JJ.

"He was out of control; terrified even. He wouldn't listen to me or JJ and he got right in the rental car which he had already called on the jet. He'll be half way back to Virginia by now," Prentiss sighed.

"He kept glancing around too, and he left this behind..." JJ placed Spencer's mobile on the desk.

"Was acting like he was being watched?" Hotch asked, taking the phone and looking through it. He was met with 50 missed calls and 20 blocked texts from an anonyms number, with a further 123 texts from the same number, presumably before Reid found out how to block them. His expression changed as he read them, and Morgan looked over his shoulder with a feeling of sinking dread in his stomach.

"Yes, he kept looking over his shoulder; not at us. It was like he was expecting somebody to come at us any moment. He was really scared Hotch,"

They were all the same.

Spencey, only blood will suffice.

Hotchner pressed voicemail with a heavy heart.

-"Spencey, don't you know how much it hurt? I'll find you soon,"

-"You looked like you were recovering quite well, Spencey"

-"Oh, that's a nasty papercut you got from all those files Spencey,"

-"You didn't like that curry, did you, Spencey? Shame, I could have bought you a better one,"

-"You could have at least tipped the waitress. She looked a little like Maeve, come to think of it,"

Suddenly, it started ringing and Morgan hit the call button, but his hand felt like lead. It was so heavy; heavy with the mind-numbing trepidation.

-"I've discovered some veerry interesting things, Spencey, such as how you were almost buried alive by Tobias. He would have saved me a good job, but I would also have been angry at not being able to do it myself. It gives me some brilliant ideas. What would it be like- watching you struggle for air? All that earth closing in, until you couldn't see the light anymore; and then there would be that final moment when your strength just leaves you. Imagine it Spencey. I look forward to it," The call ended there.

"He has a stalker, and he didn't think to tell us?! The kid must have been going through hell..." A bead of sweat rolled down Morgan's forehead, but the temperature in the room had just dropped to below freezing. The call left all of them shaken, and deeply worried for their youngest team member: this man was making Reid's every living moment a misery, and bringing back some of the most painful moments from his life. JJ looked like she was about to be sick, and Prentiss was simply horrified. Morgan was angry. Rossi was stunned. Hotch's face was an unreadable mask.

"It looks like our unsub knows Reid personally. He seems to delight in using 'Spencey' as a nickname, but also like a form of personal psychological torture. It was probably a—" Rossi was cut off in mid flow my Hotch, who looked grim. Bitter with guilt, and scarily grim: a face like that only foreshadowed something bad.

"There is no unsub, and there is no case yet," He said, and no matter how well he hid it from the team, he couldn't deny the hand of guilt, which plunged a dagger into his stomach and twisted it around. "We have a case right here, and right now. This unsub is killing on a cycle of five days, and we have 24 hours to catch him before he kills again. His numbers are fast approaching the twenties, and we don't want them to reach that number,"

"No. No! We have to stop this before anything happens to Reid, Hotch, you heard this guy- he wants nothing more than to hurt him!" Morgan argued back, all regard for Hotch soon thrown to the winds. Without even fully realising it, Morgan had gotten to his feet as if carried up by the wave of his anger. His clenched fist struck into the table, and Hotch stood up to meet him head on.

"Think about this Morgan! If we value a case of an FBI agent over a case where prostitutes are dying, it will reflect horribly on us! Reid is still alive; he's on his way home right now, but there are nineteen girls who aren't, and one who is going to die and she doesn't even know it. Get your priorities straight Morgan!"

"Are you saying Reid isn't important to this team!? Hotch, he's damn well the best agent we've ever had, as well as being my best friend- screw that: he's a friend to all of us. I know we can't be personal, but you need to think about it,"

"Agent Morgan: do not talk back to your superiors! You take orders, and you follow them! Right now, I am ordering you to back the hell down and focus on developing a profile. Reid isn't...isn't... He's not important right now,"

Morgan looked murderous. Hotch's tone had become that special one; the one he reserved for speaking with unsub's, and just then Morgan was angry enough to snap his neck. He sucked in a deep breath. Glared. By his side, his hand was trembling; so he curled it and uncurled it in and out of a fist in an attempt to steady it. What Hotch had just said was evil, and bloody unfair too. If Derek were to make Hotch look him in the eyes, would he still be able to say that same line again? Would Aaron Hotchner honestly be able to say that Spence's life was pointless at the moment, and they should all focus on strangers? On sluts? No... Morgan knew he couldn't think like that; a small part of him kept telling him that he was getting too personal and too angry. Unfortunately, that small part sounded exactly like Hotch, and it caused his blood to boil all over again. With a clatter of his chair, Morgan stormed outside to the hallway. Rossi followed close on his heels.

"Tell him, Rossi! Tell him Reid comes first. He's a member of this team- a team he sees as a surrogate family for his own messed up one! He listens to you, dammit! He'll always listen to you..." Morgan ran both hands across the dome of his head, leaning against the wall. He felt drowned by the hopelessness of the situation.

"My hands are tied this time Derek, I'm sorry. You both made good points, but remember what Hotch said? Reid isn't even in danger yet, and these girls are. Go back to the hotel; rest. Come in tomorrow, and we'll give Reid a call before starting work. That would have given him enough time to get home, okay?" Rossi once again reminded Morgan of the peace-keeping granddad, and he couldn't help but listen to the older man. Yes, they both had made that excellent point. Morgan seized hold of it, and took a deep breath. He realized that he had been thinking about Tobias, and how they hadn't noticed Reid's disappearance in time to save him. It had taken three days until they got to him, and then Reid had become addicted to Dilaudid. That addiction could have ruined everything for Reid. In fact, this entire thing was like some surreal crossover of Tobias and Maeve: a stalker and a man who wanted to torture Reid all rolled into one. There was no irony to be found though, because Derek could not stop worrying; if the BAU was the surrogate family for Reid, then Spence was the little brother that Morgan had always wanted growing up. If a friend and a brother was in danger, Derek would stick his neck out and hold out his arms, catching Reid and taking the blade himself. He was used to feeling like he had the power to do that, but just then, in that moment in a small police station in Fort McDermitt, Nevada, Derek Morgan felt truly helpless. Morgan hadn't even felt so bad when Reid shut himself in a room contaminated with anthrax!

Sighing heavily, he nodded and looked at Rossi.

"Yeah. Sleep, rest, and call Reid. I can do that," He mumbled, and walked back out into the cool evening. Even in the sweltering height of summer, it was cold at night, and it was usually a welcome relief. Just then, however, it only served t add to the feeling of melancholy that was creeping its way up his spine. Rossi watched him go, and he knew exactly how Derek was feeling. Even if he wasn't a profiler, he would have understood, because he felt exactly the same.

The early hours of the morning saw Spencer Reid cowering by the front door, his hands over his ears, as the phone kept on ringing. He had thought that he would be fine if he dumped his cell; he hadn't realised that his damned tormentor had got a hold of his landline number. All night, it had gone off. First it had rung exactly every two hours, when it would ring non-stop for thirty minutes, before going silent again. Next off, it had escalated up to every hour, before simply ringing and ringing in a never-ending series of high, peeling notes. They cut into his head, and grated against his nerves, but he couldn't bring himself to move away from the door: the furthest point from his only landline in his bedroom. Piled beside him, were parcels, and the longer they sat there, the more they stank. His flat smelt of rotten meat, but once again he didn't want to go anywhere near those packages. Reid knew what was in them without even having to look, and he didn't want those images emblazoned inside his memory. His eidetic memory which would never, ever let them go.

He couldn't run any further without leaving Quantico completely, and if Spence was honest with himself, he didn't dare. At least he would then have his friends nearby when things reached boiling point. Then Spence stopped, and a nasty thought came across his mind.

Oh yeah, they don't actually care. They've passed this off as another addiction, and Hotch asked them to spy on me and search through my things. They don't trust me and they don't care...

With that, Spencer began to cry, but his sobs were drowned out by that incessant ringing; and his mind was clouded by that feeling of a demon just outside his door. Knocking. Waiting. Waiting for him to break. Prowling the wooden floorboards, and relishing in the thought of his blood.

Please review.