A/N: So sorry to take so long to update! This is a pretty long chapter, so maybe that'll make up for it. Thank you to everyone reading, and thank you for the faves and follows and, of course, reviews!

Not much in the way of warnings, just a bit of gory imagery and sexy talk...

Waking up from a sex dream had always been one of Morgan's favorite ways to start the day—if he was waking up alone, at least. Unfortunately, for the last several days, waking up from a sex dream involving Spencer Reid had put a confusing and disturbing twist on something he normally found to be pretty damned enjoyable.

But this time, it felt good.

In his half-awake state, he ran over the conversation he'd had with Reid the evening before, and a smile crossed his face. Reid hadn't rejected him. Hadn't fallen all over himself apologizing for not being who and what Morgan needed, hadn't stared at him with a worried expression, wondering how the hell he was going to escape from Morgan's hotel room without making him feel bad.

Hadn't said no.

He had, in fact, said maybe.

It wasn't much, but it was something, and Morgan thought he could live with that, at least for a while.

And this time, this morning, he didn't bother reaching for his dream journal; so what if his dream world held some strange foreboding of troubles yet to come—they were just dreams. Morgan felt too good and warm and itchily-aroused to worry about it, and he took his cock in his hand and finished off what his randy subconscious had already started. He came hard, and then lay sprawled naked across the bed on his back, panting.

When he was somewhat recovered, he glanced at the clock and judged that he had twenty minutes to jump in the shower, dress, and arrive at the downstairs conference room in time to join the team for their morning meeting. He forced himself to stand up and push his lethargic body into high gear.

But, when he entered the meeting room, the only person there was Prentiss.

"Don't tell me I'm early for once," he said, pulling out a chair.

Prentiss didn't glance up from the newspaper she had open on the table in front of her. "No, hell's not frozen over just yet." She then caught his eye and grinned a welcome before adding, "Hotch called to let me know he spoke to Garcia—there haven't been any new developments in the case, so he took Rossi on a side trip to LA for a consultation. They'll be back around 5:00."

"Okay, and what are you up to on this fine lovely day?"

"JJ and I are going to pick up where we left off interviewing family members, but Henry had a meltdown this morning, so she's on the phone with him and Will, trying to restore sanity."

Morgan started to sit, but noticed a coffee service laid out on a side counter, and he turned to go pour himself a cup. "What about Reid?"

"He said the lady at the library called while he was in the shower. He called her back, but by then she was on the other line, so now they're playing phone tag." She shrugged, took a sip from a styrofoam cup and then gave Morgan an inquisitive look. "By the way, since we have a minute to ourselves, I've been meaning to ask you—how's the dream world going?"

Morgan laughed slightly as he set the coffee pot back on the burner. "It's going. In fact, it's crazier than ever." He returned to the conference table, stirring a packet of sugar into his cup. "But, I guess I've kind of quit worrying about it."

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

"You mean, you've come to terms with having a secret dreamworld fling with the boy genius?"

Morgan sighed. "Yeah. And, actually, it's not a secret anymore."

Prentiss' brow shot up. "Really? You told him?"

Morgan nodded.

"Well, what did he say?"

"He was... okay with it."

Now, Prentiss leaned forward, frowning a little. "Really? He didn't freak out, or—"

"No. He said... Well, let's just say, the possibility of the two of us getting together—someday, in the future—wasn't totally ruled out." He gave a sheepish grin and clutched his coffee cup with both hands as he blew across the top to cool it.

Prentiss was now staring at him, mouth open. "So, the two of you are—"

Morgan put his hands up in a "halt" gesture. "Whoa-whoa-whoa, now, chill out! It's not like he threw himself into my arms or anything. Like I said, he just... didn't rule it out."

"Wow..." She pondered the thought for a moment, then added, "You know, I'm going to go out and find some hot, highly unattainable guy and start having wacky dreams about him. Maybe I won't have to attend my mom's next dinner party alone."

"Come on, Princess. This isn't a big deal. We just had a nice heart-to-heart conversation, that's all. Nothing'll probably ever come of it, but I feel better being honest with him—and being honest with myself. Now, let's drop it, okay?"

Prentiss squinted at him. "Huh. You do seem oddly relaxed this morning. I—" She started to say something else, but Reid strolled into the meeting room, coffee cup in hand. He nodded at each of his teammates. "Morning."

"Hey," they both answered.

"Well, I heard from Imelda Reyes, the librarian. She found the papers I was looking for, and has them ready for me to go through. There's a lot, though, and I could definitely use some help." He gave Prentiss an expectant look over his coffee cup, but she shook her head.

"Aw, I'm sorry—JJ and I are doing family interviews, and Dave and Hotch went to LA," Prentiss answered—unnecessarily quickly, Morgan thought, throwing a glare in her direction.

"Oh." Reid turned his gaze to Morgan. "All right, well, will you go with me then?"

"Uh—sure, kid. Although, I don't know what good I'll be—you're the one that reads 20,000 words a minute."

"That's okay. You can help keep the files organized and liaise with Garcia if we come up with something," Reid said—a little condescendingly, Morgan thought, suppressing a grin. As usual. That's good. He caught Prentiss' smirk and he rolled his eyes at her before standing up.

"I guess we should get a move on," he said. He could tell Reid was in his "hot on the trail" mode and couldn't wait to get at those documents. The younger man swallowed a mouthful of coffee as he nodded enthusiastically.

"Great! See you later, Emily."

"Bye, guys. I hope you find something."

"Me, too," Morgan said, raising his cup in farewell.

The two men went out to the SUV; Morgan took the wheel and they headed for the library. It was a short trip, too short for a real conversation, but they each made small talk just to fill in the silence, and Morgan was surprised at how easy it was to pretend that the discussion from last night had never happened.

The librarian, Miss Reyes, had set up a folding table in a corner of a back office for Reid's use, with boxes labeled by year stacked neatly beside it. "Dr. Reid, just so you know, these boxes include Dr. Bannister's personal papers as well as his research. When he died, the university just packed up everything per the professor's request, and they didn't bother to pick through it. There could be anything in there, bank statements, grocery lists... who knows?"

"Aw, man..." Morgan regarded the boxes with a dismayed expression, but Reid seemed positively delighted.

"Thank you, Miss Reyes, this is excellent. There's bound to be something in here we can use."

"Yeah, if we had a couple of months to go through it all," Morgan groused in the background. "Or years."

"Well, good luck with it," Miss Reyes said as she left the room.

Reid had already claimed a desk chair and quickly had a stack of files positioned on the table to his left, with a local area topological map and the case file on his right. "Oh, come on. We can get through this by the end of the day. Here, start on these..."

Morgan took the proffered files with a sneer and dropped into an over-stuffed wingback chair in the corner. He pulled a footstool into position and settled in, putting his feet up for comfort. "And, what, exactly, is it that I'm looking for?" he asked.

"Anything having to do with Native American rituals or mention of local tribes. Descriptions of nearby geological formations. Also, keep an eye out for any of the victims' surnames. You know, the usual."

Morgan nodded wearily, opened a file, and began reading. It was soon apparent that he'd be struggling to keep his eyes open.

Madam Emily handed Derek a tin plate filled with buttered pancakes covered with maple syrup and a side of thick-cut bacon, and then gestured at a large coffee pot suspended over the coals of the camp fire. He nodded his thanks, noting the young woman had a somewhat uneasy manner about her, as if something was troubling her greatly. But she broke into a grin when Spencer came up and wrapped his arms around her from behind and said with a thick fake French accent, "Bonjour, Madame!Mon Dieu, votre derriere est tres bonne. C'est magnifique! "

"Thanks, sweetie, I'm glad you like my ass. What's got you in such a cheerful mood? Oh, wait, I think I know," Emily said as she gave Derek a knowing wink. "I take it you two got a restful night's sleep?"

"I wouldn't call it restful, but it was wonderful. Derek's amazing," Spencer said blissfully as he released Emily from his grasp. He then went to Derek and nuzzled into his neck. "He's joining our crew, by the way."

"Are you really?" Emily asked, turning to Derek.

"Uh—yeah." He slipped an arm around Spencer's waist and squeezed him affectionately. "He won't go with me, so looks like I'm going to have to stay here with him."

By now, JJ and Penelope had joined them and they overheard Spencer's announcement. All three ladies whooped with delight. "Now, that is wonderful news," Emily said, resting her arm over Derek's shoulder. "How do you feel about threesomes?" she purred.

"Not really my cup of tea, ma'am, but thank you," Derek said lightly. "I've kind of got my hands full with this one, anyway." He gestured ruefully at Spencer, who hastened to insert himself between Derek and Emily.

"Yeah, Em. I plan to keep him busy enough for the both of us, so scram."

Emily laughed, but her good humor was cut short when Hotch strode up, an especially dour expression on his face. She walked over to him and the two of them began speaking in whispers.

Derek found a log to use as a seat and settled down to eat his breakfast, motioning for Spencer to sit next to him. He watched the couple's surreptitious conversation and then turned to Spencer to ask, "What's all that about?"

Spencer had just taken a bite of pancake but he stopped mid-chew and became still, listening. Derek didn't know how he could possibly overhear what Emily and Hotch were saying, but his cheery disposition faded. He finished his mouthful of food and shook his head. "He couldn't find him."

Derek frowned. "Who?"

"The missing man. Breitkopf."

Derek swallowed down some steaming hot coffee. "Not his job to find him, is it?"

"He should have gone home by now. Should be with his wife," Spencer muttered, almost to himself.

Derek stared at the young man, a worried feeling coming over him. They finished eating in silence, and then Penelope came and sat down next to Spencer. She handed him a stained canvas sack.

"Here, honeybee. When you're done with breakfast, you need to go out and check your traps or we're not going to have any dinner."

"Traps?" Derek asked.

"Rabbit traps. Snares, actually." Spencer said, nodding at Penelope. "I know, I know. I'm going. Just let me finish my coffee." The boy took a hasty swig of the thick grog and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He gave Derek a peck on the cheek. "I'll be back in a little while."

"Hold on there, junior, I'll go with you." Derek took a last bite of bacon, stood up, and stretched. "Could use a little walk, feels like I'm moving through sand."

"Okay, but it's more than a 'little walk.' In fact, it's kind of rough going. You sure those fine shoes of yours can handle it?" Spencer said, his impish grin reminding Derek of the circumstances of their first meeting. He laughed.

"Aw, hell yeah. Doesn't sound like I'm going to need 'em to look good, working for a gypsy caravan."

"Yeah, well, trust me—you'll be wanting heavy boots before too long."

Derek shrugged and carried his and Spencer's plates to where a large pot of water was being heated for dish-washing purposes. When he turned back he saw that Spencer had already begun scampering ahead, leaving camp and heading into the woods.

Derek resolutely followed him.

"Let's see—the last one should be right over here." Two of Spencer's traps had yielded nice, fat rabbits, and Derek had dropped them into the sack and slung it over his shoulder. He noticed the boy had relaxed considerably since overhearing Hotch and Emily's conversation and was now solely intent on the task at hand.

They picked their way through a thick tangle of brambles, their eyes on the nasty vines in front of them, and, unaccustomed to navigating in the deep woods, Derek fell back several paces. A vine seemed determined to wrap itself around his arm and he got scratched as he tried to free himself, cursing under his breath. He was about to resort to pulling out a pocket knife when he heard Spencer cry out.

"Spencer! Are you all right? Where are you?" Derek hurriedly made his way through, paying no attention to his scratched, stinging hands. He came around a stand of trees and found Spencer standing stock still, staring upward. Derek followed his gaze and saw the man he recognized as Frank Breitkopf slackly hanging from a rope tied to the branch of a huge old oak tree.

"Aw, shit." Derek started to go to the man, but Spencer pulled him back.

"No, Derek! He's dead, there's nothing you can do for him."

"I can take him down, carry him back for his wife to bury—"

"No. Leave him. He did this to himself, but do you want the sheriff getting the idea one of us had something to do with it?"

Derek studied the youth's impassioned expression. "Why would he think that?"

"I don't know, it's just a feeling I have, but think about it—we're an acting troupe passing through town, it's not like we have the best reputation to begin with. Plus, Breitkopf was last seen with Gideon at our show. Elected lawmen always like to show the voters what a good job they're doing catching criminals. What difference does it make to them if we're guilty or not?"

Derek looked back at the hanged man. "How do you know he did it to himself?"

Spencer motioned at the soft bare ground under the shade of the tree. "Look. There's only one set of footprints."

"Huh, good point." Derek stood watching the body sway slightly with the breeze. "What the hell would make a man do something like that?"

Spencer shrugged and shook his head. "Who knows? That's not our problem." He strode over to a small pile of brush where he'd located his snare. A dead rabbit lay there, and Spencer collected it and put it in the sack. "Come on, let's go." He saw Derek staring up at the dead man. "I mean it, Derek—forget about him."

"Seems wrong, to just leave him... dangling there."

"They'll find him soon enough."

Derek gave Spencer a perplexed look. "How?"

"The buzzards'll tell them." Spencer gave Breitkopf a last dour look, and then began heading back to camp. Derek shuddered at the thought of the scavenger birds picking at the pitifully limp body, but he reluctantly turned and went after Spencer.

Gideon was getting antsy. Staying in one place for more than a few nights went against his nature, and being forced to stay by edict of the local sheriff was particularly galling to him. He sat on the steps of the Compendium, idly whittling at a twig. He looked up when Spencer and Derek came back into camp.

Spencer presented the rabbits to Penelope and then strode up to Gideon. "I need to talk to you," he said in a grim tone.

"Something's happened," Gideon said softly.

"I'll say," Derek snapped, although he wasn't sure why he felt such a rush of disgust toward the older man. Just echoing Spencer's attitude, maybe.

"Well, come inside." Gideon stood and opened the door to the caravan, inviting them in.

But Penelope called to Spencer, "Oh, Mr. Magic-hands, I could use your help with our future dinner! Do you really expect me to prepare these little guys all by myself?"

"Just a minute, Pen!" Spencer said irritably. "I have to talk to Gideon!"

Gideon motioned Spencer away. "Go ahead, help Penelope. I'm sure Derek can fill me in on whatever it is that's got you so agitated."

Spencer shot him a dark look and started to say something, but he must have thought better of it, as he turned and slowly headed back to where Penelope was standing.

Gideon ushered Derek into the Compendium.

"So, I take it your walk in the woods landed you more than just a few rabbits?" Gideon asked as he pulled a cigar out of his coat pocket.

"You could say that. We found Breitkopf—at the end of a rope."

"Oh? Dead?"

"Yeah—he hung himself, apparently."

"Interesting. Well, he did seem troubled. Probably did the world a favor by departing from it." He put the stogie in his mouth, lit a match, and held it to the end, drawing in the flame determinedly.

Derek looked at the wall which hid the acting troupe's props and costumes from the rest of the caravan. "Everybody knows he was in here that night, and that you spoke to him. What I want to know is, why'd he come in here in the first place? And, what did you say to him?"

"Well. It was a private conversation, and, forgive my bluntness, but it's really none of your business." A thick stream of smoke escaped through Gideon's nostrils and wafted throughout the caravan.

"Maybe not. But, I bet you the sheriff's going to ask you the same questions."

Gideon smiled quizzically. "I'm sure he will. And, I'm going to ask him the same question I'm about to ask you—what possible difference could our conversation have made?"

"I don't know. All I know is the guy went missing after talking to you, and now he's dead by his own hand. I think that's a little odd."

"Words don't kill, Mr. Morgan. And, I'm certainly not a persuasive enough speaker to talk someone into committing suicide."

"Maybe you used something more than words."

"Oh, please—do you seriously think I had something to do with Mr. Breitkopf's decision? How could I possibly? What do you think I am, a wizard?"

"I don't know what the hell you are. But, there's something strange about you, about... all of this. I don't get it, but you..." He waved a hand at the partition, thinking of the drawers filled with little bottles and pots and jars, and a startling thought came to him. "Wait a minute—did you give him something? Some kind of potion that made him crazy?"

That made Gideon laugh out loud. "A potion? My God! I think you, sir, are the crazy one. But, I'll indulge you. Let's say I was so clever as to know how to make such a potion, and that I somehow induced Mr. Breitkopf to take it—why in the world would I do that?"

Derek stood staring into Gideon's coal black eyes. He shook his head slowly. "I don't know. Maybe you knew him." Derek detected a tiny shift of interest in Gideon's expression. Encouraged, he asked, "You did know him, didn't you? Did he do something to you—did you want revenge?"

Gideon's face seemed to darken, and his eyes took on a silvery cast. "I'd never met the man before that day. And even if I had, even if there was a score to settle—I'm not an executioner. That's not my place. I only... judge."

"What do you mean?"

Gideon sighed. "You know, if you're truly to be part of our company, you need to understand a few things, in spite of young Spencer's protestations. What do you think, Mr. Morgan—is it time to dream?"

"What?" Derek asked, bewildered.

"Do you want to know the secret of the Compendium? You do, don't you?" Gideon said, a fresh smile brightening his face. "What goes on in here, after a show? When the amazed locals poke their heads in, wanting more... It's been driving you crazy, hasn't it? I know it has." He turned and ran a hand over the rolling wall, his fingertips caressing it. "What's really behind this partition? Just a bunch of worn old clothes, garish makeup, and ugly puppets. Right?" He looked over his shoulder at Derek. "Do you want to see, Mr. Morgan? Do you want to know the secret?"

Derek nodded, a slow, almost painful gesture. He thought of Spencer's panic when he'd seen Derek in the Compendium before... But, that had been ridiculous. It was just a show wagon, full of the tools of illusion.

"Give me a hand, please." Gideon opened the locks and then he and Derek leaned down in order to roll up the partition. But, as Derek pulled and pushed the heavy divider up and out of the way, he began to feel lightheaded. The cigar smoke smelled foul, the room had became hot and stuffy, and he felt his breath go out of him. His vision began to blur.

He blinked furiously as he gasped, and then the air chilled and he felt as if he were falling. He closed his eyes tightly, reaching out to grab onto something solid, but he felt nothing, even though he knew the props and costumes were easily within arm's reach. But, when he opened his eyes, they were gone.

Everything was gone—Gideon, the caravan, the shelves and clothes and marionettes. Instead, he found himself in a forest clearing, much like the one he and Spencer had come upon when they found Breitkopf earlier. He looked around frantically and tried to call out, but his voice didn't work. Then, he saw Breitkopf himself, standing in the distance. Derek found himself walking, although his feet didn't seemed to move a step. As he approached the man, he could see a woman lying at his feet, her hands bound behind her, her face bruised and her clothing bloodied.

And, he could see that Breitkopf had a knife.

Derek watched in horror as he raised it, a sickly-pleased smile on his face, and he plunged it into her chest. The woman screamed, and Breitkopf pulled the knife out of her and stabbed her again, this time in her belly. The poor woman tried to scramble away, managing to turn over onto her side, but Breitkopf drove the knife into her ribs, then between her shoulders. He pushed her onto her back and stood over her, staring down with that same sick smile on his face.

He seemed to take pleasure in watching the terror in her eyes.

Now, Derek couldn't move, and somehow he felt himself melting, melting into the woman, dissolving into her body until he was her, and now it was he who was on his back immobilized, staring up at his murderer. He watched Breitkopf raise his knife again, saw the glint of steel, saw the look in his eyes, and he felt his blood spewing, felt his heart give out as the blade slashed through his throat.

His vision turned to black and the falling sensation came over him again. Then, he was aware that he was still in the Compendium and everything was as it had been before, the puppets, the costumes, the shelves and drawers, and Gideon was still standing beside him, smiling.

Derek was shaking, his breath coming fast and ragged. He turned slowly and faced the older man. His throat was sore and it hurt to talk, but he gasped out, "What the... What the hell... was that?"

The door to the caravan was torn open and Spencer came in, panting as if he'd been running. "Derek!" he cried.

Only then did Derek realize he'd been screaming.

The morning stretched into the noon hour, and at some point, Morgan did fall asleep. He'd tried hard not to, but the librarian's office was warm and a little stuffy, and the easy chair was extra-soft and comfortable, and he was so tired...

At first, he'd been careful to sort between personal notes and papers—including old calendars, envelopes full of receipts, and more than a few long overdue bills—and the academic stuff, but after a while, he settled into reading the interminable documents that Reid wanted him to go through. These were not only boring, but they contained geological terminology he wasn't familiar with, most of which seemed only to serve to describe a vast variety of rocks. Really big rocks.

He tried to keep his eyes open, but all the talk of asthenospheres and batholiths and caliche eventually did him in, and he slid seamlessly into his bizarre, and now seriously disturbing, dream world.

"Oh, wow..." Reid's voice penetrated Morgan's deep sleep and he roused himself into an upright position. He felt shaky from the dream, and it took him a moment to convince himself he was actually awake and that the librarian's office was his true reality, and not a gypsy caravan filled with acrid cigar smoke. His lips moved for a few seconds without words coming out, but he finally managed to rasp, "Huh? What? Did you find something?"

"Yeah, I... I think so. You okay? You sound out of breath."

"I'm fine. What've you got?" Morgan swiped a hand over his face and cleared his throat before standing and going to lean over Reid's shoulder.

"Look at this." Reid handed him a paper, the first half of which was filled with archeological descriptions and more unfamiliar rock-terms, but the last paragraph caught Morgan's eye.

"'Interestingly, based on these artifacts, it is believed that a small local indigenous population considered the shadow formed by the meeting of these two particular formations to be a holy place with healing properties, and that they gathered there often to pray.'"

"Okay—so?"

Reid pointed at the map. "According to the coordinates, that site is exactly where the unsub's been dumping the bodies. Now, read this." Reid grabbed another folder and pulled out another sheet of paper. He pointed to a paragraph he had placed a sticky note beside. Morgan read it, his brow furrowing as he went along.

"Let me get this straight—this local tribe just disappeared sometime in the 1850s? What happened to them?"

"This." Reid handed him yet another paper. Morgan read it and shook his head.

"Okay, this mentions some guy named Joseph Bannister—he's related to our professor, I guess?"

"Yeah, he's Alexander Bannister's great-grandfather, apparently."

"Huh. So, Bannister led a group in search of gold to the area. They set up camp, but it was rough going for them, especially since Bannister was using the group's provisions to do some underhanded trading in order to put cash in his own pocket, but when his men came to him with the accusation, he convinced them that the natives were stealing from them. They made a plan—they waited until the tribe met at the shadow of the two peaks and slaughtered them. Shit."

"I'll bet Dr. Bannister's obsession with studying this area stemmed from that incident. Maybe he hoped to prove history wrong?"

"Or... Maybe he wanted to atone for it." Morgan was frowning, deep in thought.

"Morgan, if you're thinking he had something to do with the murders, I think I should point out—Dr. Bannister died eighteen months ago. The first victim disappeared less than a year ago."

"Okay. But, I came across something in his personal stuff that mentioned a Mark Bannister—hold on." Morgan went back to his chair and dug through a box, bringing out an envelope. "Yeah. This is a letter, looks like it could be from his son. Dated twenty-four years ago." Morgan handed it to Reid, who took it and read it quickly.

"Good thing you found this before you fell asleep," Reid said with a grin.

"Hey, now. I didn't fall asleep, I was just resting my eyes for a minute."

"Oh, right, the kind of rest that involves snoring, uh-huh."

"Don't give me a hard time, man. I haven't had a decent night's sleep in a week." Thanks to you, he thought ruefully.

"Okay, okay. Anyway, yes, this is a letter from his son, saying he's about to become a father himself." Reid looked up at Morgan. "So, maybe there's a grandson."

Morgan already had his phone out. "I'll give Garcia a call and get the lowdown on all three of them."