A/N: Okay, I never write/update stories this often, but you guys have been leaving such nice reviews that I really want to finish this story for you! I believe you'll find that things are starting to get more interesting in this chapter, and please don't kill me for all the cliffhangers! (Side note - the statistics that Rossi rattles off in this chapter are completely made up. I was too lazy to look up the actual ones.)

At the BAU, Prentiss, Rossi, and Hotch sit at the round table in the conference room, waiting for JJ and Garcia to return. JJ had called Hotch and told him that Morgan had needed their help with something, and to everyone's surprise, he was more than okay with it.

"Have you spoken to Strauss?" Rossi asks, attempting to break the silence in the room.

"Yes," Hotch answers, his face looking guilty of something.

"What did you do?" Prentiss asks, recognizing the same look that Hotch gets every time he goes against Strauss' orders and follows his own judgement instead.

"I, uh…" Hotch begins. As their head profiler, Agent Hotchner knows that a lot of people look up to him, especially Prentiss, who has always gone out of her way to make him and the team proud of her. Lying to the Section Chief may not be the best quality to pass along to his team. "I may have exaggerated Agent Morgan's injuries to buy him some time with Reid."

"What did you say?" Prentiss pronounces each syllable. Speaking slowly is something she does when she is skeptical of someone's decisions. Hotch picked up on this habit after just a week of working with her. Sometimes, working for the BAU has its disadvantages.

"I told her that he had two broken ribs."

"Hotch!" Prentiss exclaims, glancing over at Rossi, who seems unphased by his supervisor's blatant lie. Prentiss has never understood how Rossi stays so equable all the time, but he did found their team. Everything that they do today can be routed straight back to the best-selling author, so who is she to question his motives?

"Oh, come on, Emily!" Hotch smacks the table with the back of his hand, more so in a joking manner rather than irritance. "Don't act like you didn't exaggerate that 'cold' you had last month." Hotch puts emphasis on the word "cold," and his lips almost form the tiniest smile. Rossi laughs behind the case file he's flipping through, not really reading the gruesome details on the pages.

Luckily for Emily, the ringer on Hotch's cell phone saves her from being put on the spot. He excuses himself, and Prentiss' eyes follow him all the way out of the room and down the catwalk, until he disappears through the bullpen and presumably into his own office.

"What do you think that was about?" Prentiss asks Rossi, who still pretends to be studying their current case.

"Do you think this guy is a psychopath?" he asks, pointing to a picture of a young, brunette woman with a cross carved into her chest. "This level of torture is definitely sadistic."

"Probably not," Prentiss answers, her mind somewhere else entirely. "He brushes their hair and cleans the blood off their skin after dumping them. Psychopaths aren't remorseful. Hey Rossi?" She asks, steering the conversation into what is really bothering her. He finally looks at her, his thick, black eyebrows raised in an imperfect arch. "Do you think we're bad people, not visiting Spencer this morning?"

Rossi closes the manilla folder, places it on the table, and folds his hands neatly on top of it. He considers Prentiss for a while, being patient in his answer. "I think," he finally says, being sure to keep his eyes locked on hers, "That Spencer would want us here. He would tell us that -" Rossi clears his throat and raises his voice several octaves, going into a terrible impersonation of Reid that makes Prentiss laugh. "- Statistically speaking, there are fourteen people being murdered in Washington D.C. alone at this very moment. Supposing that one person is murdered every single day per one thousand people, and there are roughly 319 million people in the U.S., that's…" Rossi trails off, pretending to do the math on his fingers even though he knows he probably couldn't figure it out with a calculator in front of him. "...a lot of people being murdered. And you guys are here, staring at me in this hideous outfit and -"

"Okay, Rossi. I get it. You win." Prentiss punches him on the arm, and Rossi leans back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. "It just feels wrong. We should be there."

Rossi is about to express that he feels the same way, but he's cut-off when Hotch rushes back into the room, half-jogging, half-fast walking. "Change in plans," he says urgently. "We're going to the hospital."

"It's so…" Morgan begins, his words catching in his throat as Garcia walks up behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder. He brings his own hand up to rest on top of hers, looking about the scene gloomily.

It was a relatively short walk from the mall to the hospital, and the two of them wasted no time in getting into Garcia's car and heading straight to where the accident had occurred the previous night. Shattered glass still litters the area below them and a tree leans on its side lazily, but the scene has been cleaned up well enough.

"Derek, where are you going?" Garcia looks helplessly after the agent, who slowly descends down the bank. She looks at her four inch heels, and decides she better stay at the top, where Morgan had been standing next to her just moments before.

Ignoring Garcia's pleas to come back, Morgan glances around the area. Tire marks near the road show where his car first overcorrected, but they disappear about three feet down the hill. That must be when we started rolling, he thinks with a shudder. Morgan takes a few steps closer to the tree that had prevented them from going straight into a small lake at the very bottom of the hill, stopping in his tracks when he spots red-stained grass.

"Dammit!" He yells in frustration, kneeling down next to the spot and striking his fist on the ground. Garcia jumps in her position on the side of the road, but he doesn't notice. "Why not me?" he asks, looking up at a god that he isn't so sure exists. Morgan lets his fingers trail over the dried blood and oil, using the tickle of the grass to remind him that, despite everything, they are both still alive. That has to count for something, right? After giving himself a moment, Morgan stands back up and walks over towards the tree. It's been splintered down the middle, but not broken entirely. In a way, it reminds him of Spencer - damaged but still alive.

Morgan reaches out and touches the tree. He isn't sure why he does it, but he does. He closes his eyes and takes in the sensation of the cool, rough bark grazing his fingertips. "Ouch," he groans, opening his eyes and pulling his hand back as a small splinter embeds into his thumb. He instinctively raises his thumb to his mouth, and that's when he sees it.

Just below where the tree begins to split, a dull, poorly carved symbol is etched into the light brown bark. Morgan gets so close that the tip of his nose is almost touching the tree, and that's when he sees the words. The killer and the kisser, written just above the outline of a heart that has been pierced with another carving - some kind of hooked object, it appears.

It isn't hot outside, but sweat begins to trickle down Morgan's forehead. His throat becomes a desert and he can vaguely hear Garcia calling out to him several yards away. He turns to her blurry figure, unsure if his vision is compromised because of his concussion or because he is entering a state of shock. "I'm coming," he calls out hoarsely. Using his body to shield his actions from Garcia, Morgan digs his phone out of his pocket and takes a quick photo of the peculiar message. He tries to wipe any hint of a panic off of his face, and then makes his way back up the hill with his phone tucked securely in his back pocket.

"You okay?" Garcia asks tentatively, once they have climbed back into her car and merged back onto the road. She knows it's a stupid question to ask, but it's better than not saying anything.

"Yeah, I just…" Morgan decides not to tell Garcia about what he found down the embankment, at least until he knows for sure that it's something they should be concerned about. He doesn't want to worry his team about all the possibilities unless there is a good reason for it. He's going to call Hotch later and ask his opinion on the matter.

"Derek, you have to stop blaming yourself," Garcia says, frustrated that she can't seem to help in any way. The stoplight in front of her suddenly turns yellow, and Garcia steps on her brakes a little harder than usual. It isn't enough to actually do any harm, but Morgan flings his arm out in front of Garcia protectively, causing the velcro of his sling to rip off of his neck. Pain shoots up his forearm and his pristine white bandage starts to turn a soft shade of red almost immediately. "Oh no," Garcia utters weakly, part being grossed out by the sight of blood and the other part feeling terrible. She hadn't stopped to think that the wreck might make Morgan wary of cars, or even cause PTSD. People like Morgan - strong, unbreakable, fierce - aren't affected by things like that. Or maybe Garcia's knight in shining armour has let his sword slip out of his grasp on this one. The idea is heartbreaking to her.

"I am so sorry," she begins, her eyes darting from Morgan's gritted teeth to the road. Her breath quickens, and Morgan places his bleeding arm on her leg.

"Don't," he insists. "We're almost back at the hospital. It'll be fine."

"But Morgan, I - " A loud ping fills the cab of the car. Morgan recognizes it as his phone. He shifts to one side, digs it out of his pocket, and stares at Hotch's number lighting up the cracked screen.

Is he calling me back to work? Is Strauss going to fire me for being so reckless - no pun intended? Ridiculous, unlikely scenarios plague his thoughts until he finally takes a deep breath and picks up the phone.

"Morgan," he states. "What? When?" Garcia glances over at him. His face is a mixture of surprise, shock, and dread. She asks him what's going on, but he holds a finger up to silence her. "We're two blocks away," he finally says, and Garcia's heart falls to the floor. They are two blocks away from the hospital. Something has happened to Reid.

Morgan bursts through the hospital doors three minutes later, not meaning to leave Garcia behind but not exactly caring too much about it either. He marches through a second set of doors marked "intensive care" and heads straight towards Reid's room, only to be jerked aside by a strong arm. Morgan holds his fist up, prepared to swing at whoever grabbed him without warning. He stops his fist when it's already barreling through the air, right at Hotch's face.

"Derek, it's me." Hotch seems unphased by the fact that he'd almost got knocked out cold by a subordinate, instead focusing on calming the agent down. It takes Morgan some time to register what is happening, but when he does, the crazed look falls from his dark brown eyes.

"What the hell is going on?" He asks hastily, looking around the waiting room at his anxious team. Rossi stands just behind Hotch, overseeing the exchange in case things get out of hand. Behind him, JJ is sitting in a chair with her leg bouncing up and down rapidly, and Prentiss paces the floor in front of her. "Why aren't you in there?" Morgan pushes past Hotch and towers over JJ, unrelenting anger threatening his voice. She cowers away in surprise.

"Morgan, I -"

"I left you here because I didn't want him to be alone! Did something...was he…" Morgan's words become a slew of fragmented questions. This is something that the team has dealt with many times before, mostly when someone experiences extreme shock and anger all at the same time.

"You need to sit down," Prentiss instructs, grabbing Morgan's shoulder and gently pushing him into a chair next to JJ. JJ turns her head away, offended that he'd accuse her of leaving Reid all alone.

"No, what I need is -"

"Derek, Spence woke up."

"W - what did you just say?"

"He woke up," JJ repeats, still refusing to look at Morgan. She's seen that kind of rage in his eyes before, but only when he's confronting an UnSub. It was more hurtful than infuriating that he'd look at her in the same way, but he had done just that as he walked towards her, screaming accusations for the entire hospital to hear.

"What do you mean? Why are you here then? Why did Hotch sound so...so…" Morgan trails off again, the nature of the scenario not adding up in his head. Shouldn't they be happy that Reid is awake? Why, then, did Hotch sound so concerned over the phone, and why is everyone's faces three shades lighter than usual? "Is he okay?" He finally manages to get out.

"Why don't we take a walk?" Rossi suggests, always the most reasonable out of the group.

"Whatever you have to tell me, you can say it here." The words fall out of Morgan's mouth much meaner than he'd intended. Rossi ignores his tone of voice.

"Fine," he agrees, taking four steps closer to Morgan's chair and looking down at him empathetically. "Morgan, you're bleeding." Rossi's voice lingers with concern, having just noticed that his wound is reopened.

"I'll deal with it later," Morgan hisses, growing angry again that precious seconds are ticking by with no answers as to his best friend's well-being. "Tell me, Rossi." The eldest profiler hesitates for a moment, but seeing no easier way to break the news, he tells the story exactly as JJ had told all of them.

"Reid woke up about forty minutes after you and Garcia left." Rossi glances back at Garcia, who had walked up behind them just as Prentiss forced Morgan to sit down. "He was very disoriented...started screaming about 'the grim reaper waiting to take him away.' JJ tried to comfort him, but he didn't seem to recognize her. Nurses came in and sedated him, and he's being given a CT and MRI as we speak."

The words slowly sink into Morgan's mind. He closes his eyes and breathes, knowing that if he doesn't, all of his thoughts will become one jumbled mess and just make his head hurt even worse. After a moment inside his head, Morgan slowly opens his eyes and speaks again, this time much calmer. "I need to show you guys something."

The team all gather around Morgan as he pulls his phone out, navigates to his photo album, and pinches his fingers to zoom in on a slightly blurred image. "What are we looking at?" Prentiss asks, cocking her head to the side in confusion.

"This is the tree that stopped my car. Garcia and I went to the scene today. I had to…" He decides to skip over that part for now, not really up for the emotional aspect of things. "Anyway, I was checking things out and I saw this carved into the tree."

Hotch takes the phone out of Morgan's hand, squinting his eyes to get a better view. "The color of the bark suggests that this is a fresh carving," he notes aloud. "What does it say?" Morgan swallows hard, beginning to wonder if he's just overreacting about the whole thing.

"It says the killer and the kisser. There's a heart there, too. It looks like an arrow going through it."

"That's one messed up arrow," JJ confides, grabbing the phone from Hotch so she can get a look at the image. She observes that the object going through the heart has a hooked end, rather than a straight one. "What are you suggesting, Morgan?"

"I don't know," he answers her honestly. He hadn't really thought about what the carving could mean, just that it didn't belong there. "It's there for a reason though, Jennifer!"

Her bright blue eyes meet his brown ones. All of the anger and hurt that JJ had been feeling a few minutes ago melts away, and she places her much smaller hand into Morgan's own sweaty one. "Morgan, I know this has been really difficult for you, and I'm not saying this is anyone's fault, but…"

Morgan bolts away from JJ as if she is on fire, jumping to his feet and pacing back and forth just as Prentiss had been doing, holding his forehead in his good hand. "No, no, no," he mutters under his breath. "I'm a profiler too." The calm in his voice is almost scarier than if he were yelling at the top of his lungs. "You were going to say that maybe I'm looking for something else to blame, weren't you?" JJ bows her head guiltily. Morgan doesn't stop, but he turns his attention to Hotch instead. "Hotch, do you really think this is a coincidence?"

The agent falters, torn between what is logical and what will give Morgan peace of mind. He is clearly overwhelmed and not thinking straight, and maybe even experiencing a mild form of late-onset PTSD. Hotch chooses his next words methodically and carefully. "I think that we shouldn't rule anything out. The doctor said that Reid's tests will take at least an hour. Prentiss and I will go examine the wreckage. JJ can stay here and wait on any news about Reid while Garcia looks into the significance of the words. I want David to take you outside. You need a break."

Before Morgan has a chance to protest, Rossi is guiding him away with one hand on the small of his back, muttering something about getting his arm checked out first. Hotch looks to Prentiss, who shoots JJ a small, unsure smile before following him down the hallway. Garcia tries to think of something to say, but is at a loss for words. She looks down at JJ, who is biting her inner-cheek to hold back the floodgates in her eyes. She doesn't have the heart to leave JJ all alone like this, and decides she will just work from her laptop, which she always carries in her ginormous purse. As she pulls out the shopping bag that Morgan had asked her to hold onto, Garcia can't help but wonder who is really falling apart - Reid or Morgan?