Description: The BAU heads to California to profile a killer with an unspecified vendetta against them. However, when two of their own disappear, it becomes clear that the true threat they're facing is nothing like they could have expected. Now, the team must band together to stop a very determined enemy with an endgame far deadlier than anything they could have imagined.

Note: This is a collaboration with my friend and fellow CM/Spencer Reid fan, StarShadow, as well as our first attempt at writing these characters (and our first attempt at working together), so we're... slightly nervous as to how this turned out. We've been working on it since a little after Christmas (and we've even accidently deleted and then recovered the entire story), but we decided that we're finally ready to start publishing the chapters that we have now.

We imagine this story taking place in late season two, somewhere between Legacy and No Way Out: The Evilution of Frank. Take your pick.

Pairings: Slight Morcia/Penederek.

Warnings: Blood, death imagery, creepy unsub being creepy, eventual whump in later chapters.

"Immortality- a fate worse than death." Edgar A. Shoaff

Bakersfield, California

It was a particularly warm spring night in Bakersfield, California. The moon's sparse light gleamed down on a tiny road in the country.

The light traffic of the day had all swiftly vanished at sunset; only a few isolated figures creeped about in the stiff, humid stillness that evening brought.

A lonely jogger broke through the thick air, her shoes pounding on the still-warm asphalt.

Tears blurred her vision, only allowing her to see a few feet in front of her.

"I… deserve better...than him," she gasped out, as if saying it would make the sting of her fiance's betrayal any less painful.

"And… as for that witch of a woman… she can have him! She just… did me… a favor."

Inexplicably, that didn't help either.

The poor girl stopped running as a gentle rain began, crowning her bowed head with water droplets.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she started trudging home.

It was getting late, and she had quite a ways to go.

/

He struck, quickly and without warning.

He clapped his hand around her mouth, pinning her arms to her side, yanking her into an empty alleyway.

She struggled, but His grip on her arms was too tight. Silly thing. Resistance was futile.

She tried to scream, the sound muffled and terrified.

He couldn't have that.

This one couldn't be like the other two; both their heads had been bashed in, although one had only been rendered unconscious. That one had to be cut as well.

Perhaps He could ask His Beloved if there was a cleaner way to fulfill Her desires, one that required less killing.

Murder was exhausting.

And this? This wasn't fine murder, which required skill and intelligence.

This was practically mugging.

Anyone could do it.

He had great distaste for it. His Dear One had requested it, however, so it must be done.

The girl's pleading blue eyes met His desperately.

His hand still held firm over her mouth, he drew the knife across her throat, a movement quick, brutal and efficient.

He lowered the now bloodied knife, watching in morbid fascination as the life drained out of her eyes.

She was dead.

Her blood mingled with the rain.

Soon, all traces of his crime would be washed away.

With a self-satisfied smile, He picked up her limp body and threw it over His shoulder.

With a wink toward Northeast, which was His Soulmate's general direction from Him, He departed toward Virginia Street.

The rain poured down in sheets, cloaking His departure.

It was as if the sky itself was weeping.

He imagined that it wept for Their separation.

"I'll be home soon, My Darling," He crooned, looking in Her direction once more. "Don't fret. I'll be back as soon as I'm done with this." He gestured to the body on his shoulder.

Roughly three thousand miles away, She smiled, knowing that He was talking to her.

Or at least, He imagined She did.

FBI Headquarters, Quantico, Virginia

"And that's how it's done?" Morgan sounded skeptical. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

"That's how it's done," Garcia confirmed, delighted by his disbelief, rather than offended by it.

"Nu uh." Morgan shook his head. "You're just messing with me here."
"I'm not!" Garcia giggled. She flicked his arm playfully. "Don't insult my genius."

"Okay, okay." Morgan held up his hands, chuckling. "I wouldn't dream of it."
Appeased, Garcia leaned back in her chair, nibbling the end of her pen. It was pink and glittery, with what looked like soft, pink feathers streaming from the cap.

Morgan never quite understood her tastes when it came to these things, especially not when a practical ballpoint pen would work just as well, but then that was Penelope Garcia for you.

Flamboyant. Warm. Brilliant.

Beautiful.

His girl.

"You've got your thinking face on. Don't tell me all that mental work broke you, hot stuff," Garcia said.

She pulled the pen from her mouth and jabbed it at him like a teacher's pointer. Or maybe a magic wand.

And knowing Garcia, the latter was always the more likely.

Morgan shook his head, grinning. "Takes a lot more than that to break me, baby girl."

"Mmhmm." Garcia nodded right along with him. "You sure about that?"

"Hang on… are you saying you think you did break me?"

Penelope cocked her head, teasing. "I…"

A rap sounded at the door, despite its being open. Penelope jumped and Morgan spun his chair around languidly as Gideon barged in, without waiting for an answer.

"Hey!" Garcia tapped the pen against her thumb, her mouth dipped downward in disapproval. "This zone is private, restricted, off limits without a pass."

"I have a pass," Gideon said dismissively, focusing his attention on Morgan instead. "You're needed in the conference room. We have a case."

Morgan blinked. "We do? When did that happen?"

"About two minutes ago." Gideon spared Garcia a glance. "We're going to need you on this one."
Penelope slouched back in her chair. "Sure," she said, disappointed that their fun had been cut short. "That's what I'm here for. Tell me, what manner of creepazoid am I digging for this time?"
And they'd been having such a good time too.

"We don't know that yet."

Garcia let out a noisy sigh. "Let me know when you do."

Ever focused on his work, Gideon nodded once and turned his back and left the room. Morgan stretched out his legs, before standing to follow him.

"Come back to me," Penelope said, reaching her hand out to him.

He took it, giving it a light squeeze. "Always."

She smiled. "They don't stand a chance."
Morgan grinned, wide and genuine. "They never do." He pulled his hand away and departed.

Penelope shook her head, turning back to her computer screens. "Why do they always come in at the worst of times?" She frowned.

But then she smiled, leaning back, and tapped the end of the pen against her lips. Whoever this unsub was, they were going to regret messing with her team before the week was up.

"So what do we have?" Morgan asked, taking his seat at the table.

The rest of the team was already present. Reid acknowledged him with a nod and a small smile before his attention shifted to JJ.

The blonde agent, neat and pristine as always, stood at the head of the table, a manila folder in one hand, a remote in the other.

Once she was satisfied she had their attention, she pressed a button on the remote, directing their eyes toward the screen behind her.

Immediately, the images of several crime scenes appeared.

"An hour ago, we received these photos from the police in Bakersfield, California," she said, taking a step back.

Morgan narrowed his eyes. There were three bodies, two men of different ages and a young woman.

They were positioned on their backs, eyes staring sightlessly at the sky above them. They had been tossed carelessly on the street, as if they were something less than human.

The woman's hair surrounded her head on the sidewalk like a halo of black clouds, lending her an air of dignity that her position and terrified expression would rob her of.

Two of the victims, the woman and the younger man, had ugly, gaping wounds gashed across their throats. They'd been slit. No marks were present on the other victim.

Aside from that, it didn't seem like they had anything in common. The woman was obviously young. Her skin still had a faint olive tone to it, now cloaked by the pallor of death. She wasn't the type of beauty that turned heads, but she was attractive in her own way. Morgan felt a pang of regret for the promising future that had been ripped away from her.

No matter how many years he'd been on the job, the sight still hadn't gotten any easier to bear.

He averted his eyes and turned his attention on the other two victims. The only thing these two had in common, upon first glance, was their gender.

The first man was young, white, and clean shaven. He appeared to be in his mid twenties. His clothing, simple but good quality, indicated that he was from a family of some prestige.

The second man's skin was far darker than that of his partner in victimhood, acquired by genetics as well as the scorching of the California sun. Several days' worth of stubble covered the lower half of his face, which had a long, thick scar stretching from the man's ear to just under his chin. The man's face was weathered and pockmarked to an extreme; any exposed flesh was wrinkled like poorly cared-for leather.

JJ clicked the button on her remote once more, causing three images, more disturbing than the first, to blink into view.

They were closeups of the victims' abdomens. A letter had been carved into each one.

B, A, U.

"BAU," Morgan said flatly. "He carved BAU into his victims."
"He's trying to get attention," Reid observed. "He wants the FBI involved."

"But why?" Hotch studied the images, brows drawn low over his eyes.

Gideon shifted in his seat. "What do we know about each of the victims?"

JJ directed the screen, pulling up the photos of the first victim, the black man.

"The first victim's name was Vincent Davis. Fifty-seven. Apparently, he was homeless. No family who would miss him." Her expression was carefully neutral, skillfully hiding whatever she felt on the inside. "Coroner says the cause of death was blunt force trauma to the back of the skull. His body was then transported to the location where it was discovered the next morning."

The images changed to the photographs of the younger man's body.

"The second victim was found two days later. Same location. His name was Ethan Bedford. Twenty-two years old. He was a student at Bakersfield University. According to the report, he was walking home from a party when the unsub attacked him. Same as the first victim, our unsub used blunt force trauma to the head, only this time, the victim's throat was cut when the initial blow failed to kill him."

Now she looked slightly ill.

Again, the pictures changed to show the third victim, the young woman.

"And our final victim. Clara Hepburn." JJ paused. Morgan could see the muscles in her throat working as she swallowed before continuing. "She was twenty-nine. No sign of any blunt force trauma." JJ let out a breath. "The unsub simply slit her throat, same as the second victim."

Another click of the button, and the team was seeing the photographs of the victims' abdomens again.

BAU.

The letters glared accusingly at them. This is your fault. You caused us to die.

You've failed us.

"The first two bodies were left on Virginia Avenue," JJ continued. "Right out in the open. The residents found each body the morning after the murder occurred."

"Virginia Avenue," Emily Prentiss scoffed. "As if he couldn't get more obvious."

JJ fixed her with a sharp look. "He did. The third body was found on Quantico Avenue, which, for those of us who don't know," she cast a sidelong glance at Reid, "happens to intersect Virginia Avenue."

"He just happened to find the only place in California where a street named Quantico intersects a street named Virginia?" Morgan asked, incredulous.

"The only place in America," Reid corrected. Morgan gave him a good-natured glare.

"He was about as obvious as he could be, short of showing up at our door," Gideon said. "This unsub must be desperate."

"Desperate doesn't even begin to describe it. Do you know how much dedication it takes to find and travel to the only place in America where this anomaly occurs? Nevermind set up and execute plans for murder there. I don't think we've ever dealt with an unsub who had this level of overkill." Reid turned to Gideon, eyes glimmering with worry.

"He's confident to the point of arrogance." Gideon's expression remained withdrawn, thoughtful. "This," he waved his hand at the display, "is all for one purpose: to be noticed by us. He's leaving the bodies out in the open, on meticulously chosen streets. Everything is planned to a fault. So why are the victims killed so arbitrarily? It's as if he just picked them off the streets. If his plan is to kill in order to draw our attention, his execution is uncharacteristically simple."

"He's obviously just trying to get our attention. At this point, location and execution doesn't really matter. The fact that it's in California isn't nearly as important as the fact that it happened on this particular intersection. The way that the victims were murdered isn't as important as the fact that they were murdered at all," Prentiss gathered.

Morgan and Reid nodded in agreement.

"This is a clear slap in the face to the BAU," Hotchner commented darkly. "He's challenging us directly. Not even a 'catch me if you can.' This is more than that. A personal invite. We… are the reason for his crime."

The team stared at each other. Hotch's words hung in the air ominously.

JJ cleared her throat.

"Guys, there's more," she said, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Clara Hepburn was found clutching a note." She slipped a sheet of paper from the folder. "The BPD faxed a copy to me this morning. It's addressed to us; or, well," she corrected herself, "some of us."

She passed the note off to the nearest agent.

Reid took it from her hands and frowned, reading aloud, "Agents Hotchner, Gideon, Prentiss and Morgan; I eagerly await your arrival. If anyone I have not named accompanies you on this journey, more will die. If you leave anyone I have named behind, more will die."

He paused, glancing up at everyone. "Hurry." Reid placed the note on the table, sliding it forward. "He… doesn't say anything else."

Gideon reached for the note, pulling it towards him.

"He's specifically asking for the four of us," Hotch said, his eyes traveling the room, "and no one else. Why the four of us?" He looked at Reid and JJ. "And why not the two of you?"
Morgan shook his head. Something was wrong here. And that something wrong went beyond the murder of three innocent people. "He has something against us personally?" he suggested. "A relative of someone we helped put away in the past?"

"Maybe somebody we did put away in the past that just recently got out?" Reid offered.

"It's worth investigating," Hotch said with a short nod.

Prentiss fidgeted uncomfortably. She had picked up the note and was staring at it as if it were a death warrant. "I… I haven't been here for very long. If it was someone from your past, why ask for me?" She looked at everyone in turn, searching for an answer. None of them could provide her with one.

Morgan sighed. The team was coming up with more questions than answers. "Okay, maybe he's just including you because he needs another field agent present?"

"We're field agents too, you know," Reid muttered under his breath.

Gideon cleared his throat. "Excluding Prentiss' involvement, can you think of a case the three of us worked, but JJ and Reid didn't?"

Morgan didn't even need to think on that. "No, I can't."

Gideon nodded, satisfied with his answer. "Exactly," he said. "So why does he want us? Us and no one else?"

He looked around the table.

No one had an answer for him.

Another Brief Note: There really is a location in Bakersfield, California where a Quantico Avenue intersects a Virginia Avenue. Starshadow google mapsed the heck out of it.