Sorry this is a day late guys! But I really hope you all like it!


Nikolas parked and ran up the stairs into Pazel's building, grinning. None of the other murders he'd committed had given him this much… pleasure. And there were a lot of them.

He'd shot people, poisoned them, watched their lives leave them again and again. But this time. This time he'd seen the pain in the Agent's face, felt his body crumple under the wound's he'd inflicted, been right up close. He'd always gone for less… messy ways of killing. But oh, what a fool he'd been. This was was much better. By far.

He'd taken off the wig and the fake facial hair before he'd left his car, making sure that Pazel would recognize him. Now more than ever, it was imperative that he kept his trust. Since he was just beginning to have so much fun. And he was so eager to test out his new methods again.

Nikolas rapped on the door and they went through the usual process. He was having more trouble than usual hiding his growing impatience as the locks scraped open.

Finally, he was able to step inside and follow Pazel to his seat.

"Have you really completed the mission already? In hardly twenty four hours?"

"Of course. In fact, I'm just coming from doing so now," Nikolas responded. He hadn't changed his clothes yet, so he moved the jacket off of his arm, unfolding it to display the red stained patches.

"Fantastic," Pazel said, getting up and cautiously walking up to him. He reached out and touched the bloodspot, taking a deep breath. "It's still damp."

"Yes," Nikolas said proudly. "The amount of blood the target lost was admittedly quite large."

"Wonderful," Pazel whispered, taking the jacket from him. "I shall need to keep this."

Nikolas felt a stab of annoyance, but allowed it. After all, jackets were replaceable. "Of course. Do you have my next target?"

Pazel didn't reply for several seconds, and Nikolas's impatience grew. He was almost on the verge of asking again, when Pazel finally tore his attention away from the jacket long enough to hand him his next newspaper clipping. Nikolas quickly excused himself, pausing before he walked out the door to remove his tie and blood stained shirt. It was almost dark outside, but he couldn't risk being seen with blood stains all over himself.

He forced himself to stand calmly outside Pazel's door until the locks were redone, waiting until he was back in his car to even look at the article. Of course, it didn't really matter who it was. As long as he got to kill them.


Focus. He needed to focus. He had to find the next victim before they were attacked… just like Reid had been.

Morgan shook his head and again attempting to focus on the paper in his hands. But his anger… and okay, yes, fear distracted him.

Reid had been rushed straight into emergency surgery. He'd technically died for a few minutes in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, needing to be revived. Which made the second time in his life that he'd actually been… dead. And now, they were just waiting for him to wake up.

JJ was still at the hospital, and she called with updates as soon as she got them. But it had been hours since he'd talked to her last, and looking at the clock, Morgan realized it was nearly seven in the morning. He'd been up all night, and yet he was hardly tired. He was too angry. And flashes of the picture of Reid, slumped against the wall and deathly pale kept invading his mind.

His thoughts involuntarily floated to the conversation he'd had with Garcia after everything had happened the day before. He'd called her not soon after it all went down, knowing that she'd want to be kept in the loop. Even if it was something she didn't want to hear.

"What can I do for you, hot stuff?"

"Penelope," he said flatly, and he could practically see her face slide from its usual grin to one of horror.

"No. Why are you calling me by my first name, why do you sound like that? What happened? Is my genius okay?" she'd asked, her voice shaking and terrified.

"He's in surgery right now. It's serious, they're doing the best they can, but they don't know how everything will end up," he said hollowly. He heard her gasp and start choking back tears.

"You… you go catch that scumbag," she said immediately, her voice now strangled. "And you keep me updated about how he's doing."

"Of course I will," he said, in response to both.

Just before he hung up, he heard a muffled sob on the other end.

Morgan attempted to focus again. He managed to keep his attention on the paper long enough to find another possible victim, adding the name to the list of seven others. He'd picked out anyone that was in the paper for doing something for the community, which seemed like the only common theme between the previous victims.

"Morgan," Hotch said, walking in a few seconds later. "You're here early."

"I never left," Morgan replied, half hidden behind another paper.

"You never left?" Hotch asked, raising his eyebrows. "Morgan, you need to-"

"I'm well aware of what I need to do, Hotch. I need to catch this guy and stop him from hurting anyone else," Morgan responded firmly. "I wouldn't have slept anyway, so I might as well put the time to good use."

Hotch looked like he wanted to say something else about how Morgan should have gone back to the hotel and gotten some rest, but sighed and instead said, "What have you been doing?"

"I'm compiling a list of possible victims. I've found eight so far. As soon as eight o'clock rolls around I'm going to call each of them and tell them to let us know if they get any flowers."

"Good idea, but do you think it's worth it?" Hotch said. "Trying to find the one person who will be attacked next out of everyone in the papers?"

"I had to do something, Hotch. And it's worth a shot."

"Alright. Let me know if anything pans out."

Morgan nodded once and buried his nose back into the paper.

But four hours later, he sat glaring at his phone, which was sitting on the table in front of him. There was nothing left to do. No more leads to follow. He'd gone through all of the papers he could get his hands on. Twice. He'd called every person on the list, a total of thirteen individuals, telling them to contact him immediately if they got any roses.

Reid had already cracked the pattern the guy had followed, and he'd figured out where the guy would go next if for some reason he stopped killing in Maryland.

Prentiss and Hotch sat at the table, both looking through the files for some detail they'd missed, something to do. Rossi was over by the board, leaning against the wall and studying the information posted on it.

Morgan sat at the table, arms crossed tightly. He couldn't believe the situation they were in. It infuriated him. The sound of a ringing phone suddenly shot through the room, and Morgan scrambled to pick his up off the table. But he threw it down in disgust when he realized it wasn't his that had gone off.

Instead Hotch reached into his pocket and produced his own. "JJ. Any news?" he asked, gaining everyone's attention. They all sat staring at him as he listened to what JJ was saying on the other end. "That's great. Thanks for letting us know."

As soon as he hung up, Prentiss asked, "What's great?"

"He's awake," Hotch said. "And the doctors think he'll make a full recovery."

"Oh, thank god," Prentiss said. Morgan felt a little smile break out onto his face for the first time since the day before.

He quickly called Garcia, who started crying again, but this time from relief. She gave him strict orders to keep her informed before she hung up.

"Typical Garcia," Rossi said as Morgan told them what she'd said, his voice sounding much less gruff than it had in the past day.

Morgan went to put his phone back down on the table, but before he'd even removed his hand from it, it went off. He froze for a few seconds, staring at it and hoping it would be the break in the case they needed.

"Morgan," he said tersely, answering it. The others were now watching him carefully.

"Agent Morgan? Um, you told me I was supposed to call you if I got a flower? A red rose with a note apologizing for something?"

"Yes! Yes I did," Morgan said quickly, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen. "You're Tess, right? Can you tell me your address?"

"Seven thirteen Bradley Road," she said. "Am I in danger?"

"No. I will personally make sure that you aren't," Morgan responded. "We're on our way now."

"Okay," she said, sounding frightened.

"Don't worry. You'll be alright," Morgan assured her, before hanging up. He looked at the others. "Tess Richards, seventeen. She was recently in the papers for doing volunteer work at an animal shelter. She's his next target. She just got a rose."

"Your idea panned out. Nice work," Hotch said quickly.

Morgan nodded as he stood up.

It was way past time to catch this guy.


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