A/N: I'm so happy that this fic won the 2013 Profiler's Choice Award for Best Morgan/Reid! Many thanks to all who voted, and to everyone for reading (and reviewing!)

Seds

After Morgan had cleaned up and changed, he met Reid at the hotel elevator. They exchanged sheepish grins, the doors slid open, and they got in. They stood a tad closer to each other than usual, and it was funny—Morgan was willing to bet that they'd taken hundreds of elevator rides together, but now, standing next to him in the little metal box, Morgan was struck by what a tall drink of water Spencer Reid really was.

All those features Morgan already knew by heart—skinny limbs, big brown eyes, sensuous mouth, gorgeous smile... All of a sudden, they all seemed new, and they all seemed to need careful and repeated examination and exploration.

Like in his dreams.

They didn't speak—after all, the team was waiting for them, a man was missing, and there really wasn't much to say. But somehow things were different, they'd kissed, and now they smiled at each other, two guys who worked together, two guys who dealt with fear and death and the worst of humanity side by side, every single day.

Terrible things. But, they looked at each other, and for a split second they were able to forget what waited for them in a hotel conference room downstairs and think instead of warm lips and the scent of each other's skin, of how it felt to know that there was more waiting for them, later. With any luck, sometime soon.

They both reached to push the button for the lobby and their hands brushed against each other, warm and electric. They laughed a little; such a silly thing, but for a moment, everything was just right. Morgan felt a catch in his throat as the car began its descent—if the ride had been more than a few floors, he would have taken that warm, long-fingered hand in his and squeezed, but they were working—they were feds, profilers, and they dealt with kidnappers and killers. They were about to join their team and figure out how to maybe save a man's life.

But they were both still thinking of that kiss.

Then the doors opened and they made their way downstairs to the conference room where JJ, Prentiss, Rossi, and Hotch were already seated around the table. Both JJ and Prentiss looked up when their teammates entered, and then they glanced at each other, smirking. Even Hotch had a slight grin on his face as the two took their seats, and Morgan felt like exclaiming, "Nothing to see here, people!" but he guessed the looks on his and Reid's faces said more than his protests ever could. He was grateful that Hotch quickly called the meeting to order, taking the heat off of them for the moment, and suddenly they were in the harsh, real world of the present.

Now, nothing mattered but the case; everyone quickly settled down and Hotch's face turned serious as he cleared his throat. "All right. As you know, a local man is missing, and it's possible that he's the unsub's latest victim, so we can't afford to waste time. Reid, I understand you think Brent Bannister might be the killer."

Reid nodded. "Yes. I mean, it's possible. If he's schizophrenic, his grandfather's death might have been a trigger for delusions about the vindication of his ancestor, Joseph Bannister, for his role in the murder of the tribe here in the 1850s."

"But, we've found no connection between the current victims," Rossi pointed out. "How did he choose them, and how would killing them prove Joseph Bannister innocent?"

Reid pursed his lips. "We don't have enough information to determine that. But, if he is indeed suffering from delusions, the victims might represent the type of individuals he thinks of as having the right of judgement against his ancestor. Perhaps he's imagining that some sort of trial took place, although I didn't find any reference to one in Professor Bannister's papers."

Hotch's phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket. He punched "talk" and said, "Garcia, you're on speaker. Do you have something?"

The blonde tech's voice was a bit raspy. "I don't know, sir, I'm kind of punch-drunk from too much coffee and not enough sleep. That's 'not enough,' as in zero. But I did come across an interesting tidbit about five minutes ago. Dennis O'Mara majored in history at UCLA, and, get this—his senior paper was on the murder of the tribe Alexander Bannister was so interested in."

Reid frowned. "Wow—that's really odd. It was such an obscure incident—there's not even a historical marker on the site. I've never come across it in any history book. How would O'Mara even have known about it?"

"Yeah, that is weird," Garcia agreed. "He grew up in Solano, nowhere near here. It's hard to imagine him learning about it in school."

"What does he do for a living?" Prentiss asked.

"He's a claims adjuster for an insurance company."

"Is there a chance he knew Professor Bannister? Maybe he took one of his classes?" Reid asked.

"Not that I can see. And, Bannister never taught at UCLA."

No one was moving, their attention focused on their hands, the phone, or the table top as they turned over the new information in their minds. They all startled a bit when Reid abruptly sat up straight in his seat; it was obvious by his expression that he was excited.

"Reid, what is it? Looks like your brain just went from zero to sixty in 3.5 seconds," Rossi quipped.

"It just occurred to me—we may be going about this all wrong," Reid said. "What if O'Mara knew something about that incident, not from school or history books, but from his family? The tribe was obliterated, it's unlikely anyone passed the tale down from that side. But, what if it was something he grew up hearing about... because a long-ago relative was involved in the killing?" Reid paused, blinking rapidly. "Guys, what if the victims aren't related to each other at all—what if they're related to the settlers that killed the tribe?"

"Go on," Hotch prodded.

"What if Brent Bannister isn't trying to clear his ancestor's name at all, but seeking to relieve his guilt on behalf of the Native Americans who died at Joseph Bannister's hands?"

"Garcia, can you find out if O'Mara is related to one of the men in Joseph Bannister's camp?" Hotch asked.

"I'd love to, sir, but we don't have their names," Garcia said.

Hotch turned to Reid. "Didn't you come across a list of the killers' names in Bannister's papers?"

Reid grimaced and shook his head slowly. "Damn it—I knew there was something missing. How could I have overlooked that?" He cast a distressed look at Morgan, who gave him a squeeze on the shoulder.

"Reid, there were hundreds of those files, and they were all filled with tons of information. Don't beat yourself up."

Reid pursed his lips and met Hotch's eyes with a determined expression. "I want to interview Brent Bannister. If I talk to him, I think I can get an idea of whether we're on the right track with this or not."

Hotch nodded. "Fine. Take Morgan with you."

"I don't think that's a good idea—Morgan's a little intimidating. I'd rather take JJ. I want to establish a sympathetic connection with the man, and she's a calming presence. Plus, I'm betting he'll want to show off for her."

"Then, I want all three of you to go. You and JJ will be wired, and Morgan, you'll stay in the car listening to the conversation. I'll follow in another vehicle with Prentiss and Rossi and we'll stay out of sight. If you can determine that O'Mara's still alive and being held by Bannister, I'll need someone in constant contact with us to give instructions."

Everyone stood up, checking their weapons as they strode to the SUVs waiting for them outside the hotel. Prentiss helped JJ and Reid each seclude a wireless communication device in their clothes and Morgan donned a receiver. They tested the connectivity as they began the drive to Bannister's home.

Reid drove; JJ was in the passenger seat up front, and Morgan sat in back behind the tinted windows so he wouldn't be spotted when they arrived at Brent Bannister's house.

Once they turned off the main highway, they followed the GPS closely. Hotch's car stayed right behind them until they reached a fork in the road. Hotch parked and let Reid's group continue down a dirt road snaking along a hill. It eventually led them to a sadly run-down brick bungalow standing alone, set back in a thick clump of trees.

"Pretty isolated out here," JJ said.

"Yeah. Anything could happen and no one would be around to notice," Reid agreed.

"Reid, what exactly are you going to say to this guy?" Morgan asked.

"Well, first I want to see if I'm right about his mental state, and I can get that from a conversation about his grandfather's work. If it seems he is unstable, I'll see if he responds to mentions of the massacre of the tribe and go from there. At the very least, I want to find out if he knows the names of the perpetrators, but what I really want is to get a sense of whether he had anything to do with Dennis O'Mara's disappearance or not. "

"What do you want me to do?" JJ asked.

"Help me make the interview seem as 'official' as possible. Take notes, listen attentively, and ask questions without seeming to cast suspicion on Brent himself. I want him to feel that the FBI has finally taken an interest in his grandfather's research, that we're trying to clear things up for the public record—and that, with his help, the names of the men who committed the atrocity will be revealed to the eyes of the world."

JJ nodded; she and Reid had a good chemistry together when interviewing victims and witnesses. She would play this interview just the same, all the while listening for underlying information the unsub might accidentally divulge as Reid strung him along. And, she wouldn't hesitate to play to the guy's ego, if that seemed to be called for.

Morgan sat in back, nervously tapping his fingers on the door. He didn't like the idea of Reid and JJ being in what might very well be a serial killer's house on their own. Of course, they were both well-trained, experienced agents, and neither of them would hesitate to act when needed, but Morgan couldn't help imagining Bannister catching onto their ruse and the whole thing backfiring on them.

And then there was the missing man, O'Mara—could Reid really cause Bannister to reveal something about his whereabouts? Assuming Bannister even was the killer, which it was entirely possible that he was not. Which meant they were wasting precious time...

Morgan's musings were brought to a close as Reid stopped the vehicle in the driveway. Reid looked back over his shoulder and flashed one of his heart-stopping grins at Morgan; Morgan reluctantly smiled back. "Go get 'em, kid," he said softly.

Reid gave a brief nod and then he and JJ got out and walked briskly to the front door. "You read me, Morgan?" Reid asked into his mike before knocking.

"Loud and clear," Morgan said quietly.

Reid took a deep breath and rapped on the door.

Brent Bannister answered.

Morgan fidgeted in the back seat. At this point, his only job, besides monitoring the conversation going on inside the house, was not to be seen—and it was incredibly frustrating to him. The tint on the windows was practically opaque, and with the trees shading the vehicle, there was really no way the unsub could spot him. Even so, Morgan tried to keep his movements to a minimum and to make no sound that might distract Reid. But it was killing him to just sit there.

He could hear Reid introduce himself and JJ; Bannister sounded a bit dull and hesitant at first, but when he heard his guests were from the FBI, he perked up and invited them to come in and sit down.

Reid did a masterful job of spinning a tale about the government's efforts to do a better job of documenting the shameful history of the treatment of Native Americans in California, and how Bannister's grandfather's work was thought to be a particularly insightful piece of the puzzle. Morgan slid further down in his seat, letting Reid's voice wash over him. A part of him was enjoying this; in spite of the way he razzed Reid for constantly spilling forth unasked-for facts and figures, he loved to hear Reid talk.

A smile tugged at his lips; he allowed his mind to go back to pondering the fact that he and Reid had actually, finally, kissed. Just a little thing in the big picture of life, but it meant so much—it meant Reid trusted him, that Reid... liked him—well, of course he knew Reid liked him, they'd been friends for years, but he must "like" him in that other way too, to be able to break through his reservations about his sexuality enough to take this tiny but important step, and...

He was half-lying in the back seat, idly staring upward into the trees, intent on the rhythm of Reid's voice and answers from the suspect, with JJ's occasional questions and interjections. The area around the house was empty, with nothing visually interesting to capture his attention. His eye followed the line of an overhead electrical wire through the treetops; funny, the wire leading to the house from the road was on the other side. This wire led to... where?

Morgan sat up. It was difficult to see beyond the trees because a steep hill obscured the horizon, but he could tell the wire kept going. His mind started rolling; he had to force himself to focus on the conversation in his ear. At this point, it was boring Morgan out of his mind as Bannister went on about local history and his grandfather Alexander's career. Every so often, Reid would drop key phrases that would subtly lead up to a mention of the massacre of the tribe, but he was taking it slow and giving Brent a chance to become entranced by the sound of his own voice.

And then, the topic came up.

The moment Reid mentioned the tribe's massacre, Brent's voice became slightly higher pitched and he began speaking more quickly. He asked, "Are you saying the FBI is finally willing to acknowledge the injustice done to the indigenous people in this area?"

Morgan heard Reid say firmly, "Absolutely. It's a shame your grandfather's research failed to reveal the names of the perpetrators. If only we knew their identities, we could create documents that would be available to the public, get it all out in the open..."

Morgan heard Brent Bannister laugh.

Something in the man's tone was off. Morgan had heard it before, a kind of I-know-something-you-don't-know quality that was chilling under the circumstances. Morgan's eyes went back to the electrical wire.

He listened. The conversation was now entirely between Reid and Brent. Apparently, he had given Reid a document and Reid was making a point of sounding grateful while asking more questions. Morgan hastily pulled out his phone and sent a text to JJ: Can BB see me?

JJ's phone was on silent, but she felt the vibration in her pocket. She took it out and glanced at it. The two men looked at her. She smiled. "I'm so sorry, my son's school. Please, continue." She quickly texted back, No.

Morgan answered, Checking on something. BRB.

"Is there a problem?" Brent asked.

JJ shook her head. "No, just a little mix up about a class project. Sorry for the distraction." JJ forced herself not to glance toward the door.

Outside, Morgan carefully stepped out of the vehicle and slid a jacket between the door and the frame of the car so there would be no sound from the latch catching. He moved swiftly, hunched over, until he cleared the rise of the hill. He turned and could tell he was well out of eyesight of the house. He straightened, glanced down, and found that he was on a worn pathway. He followed it until he came to a small outbuilding made of weathered wood, a shack probably once used to store animal feed.

He approached slowly. He knew that lacking probable cause meant he couldn't go inside without a warrant, and there was a padlock on the door anyway, but he walked the perimeter. There was nothing of interest, no windows to peer through to the inside. Then, he examined the ground in front of the door, and noticed clear footprints in the dirt, indicating that they were fresh.

"Hello?" he called.

He heard a rustling noise inside.

"Hello? This is Derek Morgan with the FBI. Anyone in there?"

A sound like a muffled voice answered, and then a thud as if someone had kicked the wall. The thud came again, and so did the muffled voice. Morgan pulled his gun. "If you can, get away from the door, I'm going to kick it in." He raised his leg and gave the door a sharp blow, and the door frame splintered easily. Morgan carefully stepped inside, and in the dim light saw a man lying on the floor, his arms secured behind him with duct tape, one leg manacled with a chain attached to a stud in the wall. He had a cloth gag over his mouth, and he'd been beaten pretty badly.

He stared at Morgan with a wide-eyed, terrified expression that immediately turned to relief when he realized that Morgan was there to save him. Morgan knelt beside him and pulled down the gag.

"What's your name?" he asked as he took out a pocket knife and began cutting away the tape on the man's wrists.

"Dennis O'Mara," he gasped.

"You're going to be all right," Morgan said gently. As soon as the man's hands were freed, Morgan got his radio and contacted Hotch to let him know what he'd found, and that Reid and JJ were still in the house, now chatting casually with Bannister. Hotch said he would text Reid to call him so he could update him, and for Morgan to stay with O'Mara, out of sight.

Reid received the text, Call me asap. He looked up, giving Bannister a regretful smile."Wow, we're popular today. I'm sorry, Mr. Bannister, I need to make a quick call to the office. I'll just step outside for a second."

Bannister nodded, and then he turned to JJ. "May I get you a glass of water or something?" he asked politely.

"Uh—sure, that'd be great," JJ answered. She watched the man head to his kitchen, and then glanced out a window to see Reid on the porch, talking on his phone.

A few minutes went by. Reid came back in and looked around. "Where's our host?"

"Getting me some water." JJ caught his eye, and she raised an eyebrow inquisitively; Reid held her gaze with an expression that let her know that something was up, but he didn't say anything.

They heard a door squeak open and immediately slam closed at the back of the house.

The two agents shot each other a sharp look, and Reid called, "Mr. Bannister?"

There was no answer. Reid pulled his gun and strode to the kitchen, cautiously peering around the door. JJ heard him say, "Shit."

She quickly joined him. "What is it?"

Reid was pressing his wireless com button for Morgan, and he gestured at a corner of the kitchen where a cabinet was open, revealing a closed circuit TV monitor. The flickering image was of a small shack with the door hanging by one hinge.

Morgan wasn't responding. "Morgan? Morgan!" Reid checked his com unit and then pulled out his cell phone and jabbed Morgan's speed dial number. "We've lost contact on Morgan's end," he explained. JJ could hear the dial tone to Morgan's phone uselessly going off. Reid snapped his phone shut in frustration. "Damn it, he's not answering. Morgan found O'Mara in that shack." Reid gestured at the monitor. "Come on, we've got to get to them before Bannister does."

The two agents flew out the front door, pausing to grab their vests from the SUV. "Where are we going?" JJ asked as they ran.

"It's at the bottom of this hill. I bet that's blocking the phone signal and that's why Morgan didn't answer." At least, I hope that's why, Reid thought to himself.

They were still some distance away when they spotted the shack. Someone was standing in the doorway, but it was so dark that it was impossible to determine who it was.

"Morgan!" Reid shouted, his voice grating from the effort. He ran at top speed, reminding himself to keep his eyes sweeping the area since he wasn't sure where Bannister actually was, but just as he came within several yards of the shack, a crisp "pop" sound rang out. It bounced off the hill and echoed through the trees.

Inside the shack, Morgan hastily put aside his radio and dropped to his knees so he could begin picking the manacle lock on O'Mara's leg.

"P-please, hurry," O'Mara whispered desperately. "W-we've got to get out of here right n-now. He's crazy. If he catches us he'll—"

"He won't. I've got people on their way, they'll be here any minute. If I can't get this off, I'll just kick down the wall. No biggie." Morgan took a moment to give the man a reassuring smile. That's me, Morgan thought in some amusement. Like Reid always says, I'm just the guy that kicks down doors. He almost chuckled to himself, thinking of how pleased Reid—Spencer—always was when he got a joke over on him. Spencer, he thought as he jiggled the little metal tool in the lock and felt it give way. I'll have to get used to calling him that. And—

"Oh, you sneaky bastard." The voice came from behind. Morgan stood up, swiveling as he reached for his gun.

A flash of light came almost simultaneously with a sharp bang, and then the smell of gunpowder wafted through the stale air. It only took a fraction of a second for insurance adjustor Dennis O'Mara's senses to be forever branded.

It only took another second for Special Agent Derek Morgan to drop to the floor.