Morgan sighed, taking another sip of beer; he didn't want to think about Hotch right now. He didn't want to think about Reid right now. He didn't want to think about the case, either. He didn't want to think about anything.

He turned on sport center; Clooney hopped up on the couch beside him. He let out a sigh, leaning back, closing his eyes, and listened to the newscasters' meaningless babbling…

His phone started buzzing. He let out a moan and glanced at the caller ID.

It was Hotch.

"Goddamnit," he muttered. He considered ignoring it; but then realized he would be in dereliction of his duty if he ignored a call from his supervisor. He sighed again, then flipped it open.

"This is Morgan."

"Morgan, you have to listen." Hotch's voice came to him rapidly; his supervisor was breathing heavily, and sounded rushed and agitated. "I just got a call from Reid."

Morgan sat up straight. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. He's mad at us. He said he's giving us a 'warning.'"

Morgan frowned. "What? What is he mad about?"

"That we're investigating the case, obviously! He specifically asked me not to!"

Morgan sank back into his chair. "Right," he muttered.

"What do you mean, 'right?'" Hotch demanded.

Morgan sighed. "How do you know it was even Reid?"

"Because…" Hotch trailed off. "Well, because it was, Morgan!"

Morgan rolled his eyes. "Did you have Garcia trace the number?"

He heard Hotch laughing sarcastically from the other end. "Of course not. Reid would be too smart to let himself be tracked. He must know we're looking for him by now. At least, he knows I'm looking for him."

There was a ringing silence as Hotch apparently waited for an answer. Morgan didn't say anything.

"Hello?" Hotch sounded even more irritated than before.

"Maybe you should get a good night's sleep, Hotch," Morgan said patronizingly, "Think it over. You'll feel better in the morning."

"Feel better…?" Morgan didn't think Hotch had sounded more offended in his entire life. "Fine, Morgan," his boss snapped. "Believe what you want. When people turn up dead, we'll see if you change your mind. I just expected more from you. That's all."

The line went dead. Morgan stared at it for several moments, then sighed and lay back down on the couch, his head resting on Clooney.

"Things are messed up, buddy," Morgan muttered, rubbing his dog's stomach.

Morgan didn't remember falling asleep; but the next thing he knew his phone was ringing with a call from JJ. He glanced at the time; it was 5:30 in the morning. He moaned and sat up, answering groggily.

"Hullo?"

"Morgan," JJ said; her voice sounded small and uncertain.

He blinked sleep from his eyes. "Wassup, JJ?"

"There have been…s-some more murders," she said. "Four more, actually."

"Another hospital?" Morgan asked, groping for his shirt in the dark.

"Two were," she said.

"And the other two?" Morgan prompted.

"They…I mean, Morgan, m…maybe you should just come into work, before I tell you."

Morgan froze, Hotch's words running through his mind. "What happened, JJ? Is the team okay?" His mind flashed through the various faces of his coworkers, his heart accelerating.

"The team's fine," JJ said, "But…" She stopped.

"Well, what the hell is it? Did Hotch talk to you?" Morgan asked.

"Yes," she said carefully. "He talked to all of us."

Morgan gritted his teeth. "And you believed him?" he demanded. That was just like Hotch; making the rest of the team as paranoid as he was.

"W…well," she stammered, "Not at first. It all seemed so…unlikely. Impossible. But, I mean, it's so obvious now…there really isn't another explanation…"

Morgan gritted his teeth. "Are you kidding me?" he demanded. "Reid quits and then all of the sudden he's a serial killer? Come on!"

"Morgan," JJ said, trying to interrupt.

"I mean, I seriously thought you people were smarter than this. Do you honestly think that someone like Reid is capable of—"

"Morgan!" JJ shouted again, cutting him off. "One of the people who were killed was William Reid!"

Morgan stared at the phone in dumbstruck astonishment. "W…what?" He sat back down on the couch, his head whirling.

He could hear JJ sigh from the other end of the phone. "I didn't want to tell you like this," she said. "I wanted to wait until—"

"Who was the other person?" Morgan demanded, sensing there was something missing. There had to be another explanation.

There was a pause. "I really think you should come in before—"

"JJ! Goddamnit, tell me now."

There was another pause; JJ was obviously deliberating. Finally, she spoke.

"The other person killed was Jason Gideon."

Hotch took a long swig of coffee; he had thought he would feel better, having the rest of the team in this with him; but he just felt even more exhausted than before. It was not as if the weight had been lifted off of him, and onto them; but as if for every one of them who suffered, the weight on his own shoulders doubled.

He glanced over at JJ, who was on the phone with Morgan—he had told her to call him. She kept twirling her hair anxiously around her fingers; that was a nervous habit of hers; and by this point it was knotted and twisted, sticking up in all different directions.

He surveyed the rest of his team; Prentiss was staring ahead blankly, as looking for answers in the chair in front of her; Garcia sat opposite her. Hotch had ordered her to start a geographical profile for the two hospitals that had been targeted; one in Virginia, one in Nevada; but she was just staring blankly at the computer screen. Even Rossi looked disturbed; he kept his eyes fixed on JJ.

"No, Morgan, I know you're coming. Don't worry. I…I'll tell him. Okay. Bye." She snapped the phone shut. "Morgan apologizes," she said to Hotch; she almost sounded bitter.

"Right," Hotch muttered. Despite how angry he had been with Morgan earlier, the apology didn't give him nearly as much satisfaction as he'd thought it would. "Garcia, how…how is the geographic profile going?"

Garcia burst into tears and ran out of the room.

"Not well, apparently," Rossi said, in a kind of dazed sarcasm.

"I'd…I'd better go after her," JJ muttered, and followed her friend out the door.

Hotch was left alone with Rossi and Prentiss, neither of whom looked in the mood for a conversation. Hotch excused himself, heading towards his office.

He sat down and rested his head against the chair. He closed his eyes; he hadn't slept all night, not since he'd gotten the call informing him of the second massacre in the hospital. Then had come the call about William Reid; then the one about Gideon…

As if on cue, his phone started ringing. He sighed, glancing at it; it was an unknown number.

He flipped the phone open. "Hotchner," he muttered.

"Hey, Hotch!"

Hotch froze; he didn't say anything. It occurred to him that he should go get Garcia; but then he remembered that she was probably in tears, in the bathroom, that there wasn't enough time, and that Reid wouldn't allow himself to be tracked, anyways.

"Hotch? Are you ignoring me now?" Reid sounded personally offended.

Hotch cleared his throat. "What happened?" he asked, "I thought you were just giving me a warning."

He heard laughter from the other end; it was incredibly innocent and frightening at the same time. "That was your warning," Reid said gleefully.

"You sound like you were happy to do it," Hotch spat bitterly.

"Happy? Well yes, I suppose I was. You don't sound so happy, though."

Hotch closed his eyes, hardly believing who he was talking to. "I don't condone the taking of innocent lives," he said.

"And neither do I." Reid's voice had become very solemn.

"We aren't going to stop working the case," Hotch replied.

"Oh!" Reid sounded devastated; like a child who just watched his pet dog get run over. "Don't say that, Hotch! Please!"

Hotch gritted his teeth. "You aren't going to get away with this," he said.

Reid's voice became serious again. "And neither will you," he said sadly. "I don't condone the taking of innocent lives, Hotch—but we all do what we must do."

"I suppose we do," Hotch said coolly.

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line; then the young man spoke. "I'm sorry about how things turned out, Hotch—I really am. No matter what happens next, you should know that I'm sorry. I don't regret it—I'm just terribly sorry."

"Wait, Reid," Hotch said, "We can talk about this. We can end this now. We can…" But then he glanced at his phone and noticed that the call had ended.

Hotch put his head down on the table, his head in his arms. He wanted to stay like this forever, he wanted to quit, he wanted to leave the country or the planet and never have to make another decision, to never be responsible for anything ever again…

It was at that point that Strauss decided to poke her head into the office.

"Agent Hotchner," she hissed, "Can I talk to you?"

Hotch stared at her, surprised. "I thought that JJ already informed you of the situation."

She pursed her lips. "In my office," she hissed. "Now."

Hotch got to his feet and followed the section leader out of the room, a sense of foreboding building up in the pit of his stomach.

Once they were in his office, Strauss turned on him.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she demanded.

Hotch frowned at her, very confused. "Aaron Hotchner?" he responded innocently, raising his eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes. "Adorable," she hissed sarcastically. "Agent Hotchner, how could you possibly expect me to let your team work this case?"

Hotch frowned. "With all due respect, ma'am…"

"Don't give me that," she snapped, "The team is way too personally close to this case. I would be in violation of a plethora of regulations which—"

"Ma'am," Hotch interrupted, "We are a group of highly trained psychological profilers who have all worked with the person that we are supposed to be profiling. Do you really think you could find a group of people more equipped for the job?"

She gritted her teeth. "Your tech analyst girl is in tears—"

"That has nothing to do with it," Hotch snapped. "You know that we will track down Spencer Reid faster than any other team you could possibly put together—with minimum loss of life. Why else do you think he doesn't want us working his case? Because he knows that we're the only ones who will be able to find him."

Strauss fixed him with a gaze of desperation. "But Agent Hotchner," she said imploringly, "Just think of how it will look."

Hotch gave her a look of disgust. "I don't know," he said slowly, "Why don't you try asking the families of those who were killed? Of those who will be killed if you take us off this case?"

She gazed at him desperately; her anger had evaporated into a kind of weak, pleading terror. Hotch knew who was in charge now.

"We're taking the case, Agent Strauss," he said. He turned to leave.

"But you passed him!" Her voice came to him as he was leaving the door. "You cleared him for duty! He passed his psych evaluation because of you!" Hotch turned to look at her, recognizing this as a last, pitiful attempt to shift the blame to him.

"Dr. Reid wrote the psychological evaluation," he said simply. And then he exited the office.