Thread: Love in the Time of Death (Mim and SithLordOfSnark)

Morgan shrugged. Dunno, but she's lookin' at you, Romeo. He smiled sideways at Reid, thudding him playfully on the back. It had been two years since Tara, but he supposed between her and Maev the skinny young doctor was starting to figure he was cursed. The two were different in every way, but Morgan had always looked on Spencer Reid as a younger brother, and didn't want him giving up on women. Still, there was something about this woman that kept pulling Morgan's gaze back to her as they processed the scene. It wasn't her looks--she was pretty, but nothing remarkable--it was something in the way she carried herself. Her posture and attitude wasn't the same as normal crime scene rubber-neckers she was here with a purpose. And with her eyes burning into the back of his neck, he had a feeling her purpose had to do with the two of them. Sighing, Morgan straightened again. Alright, I've had enough of this, he mumbled to Reid before turning on his heel and walking over to the tape. The woman stayed very still, as though she belonged there and he didn't rather than the other way around. She kept gazing over Morgan's shoulder, absorbed in what Reid was doing, until he was about six inches from her--enough to maintain boundaries but close enough to keep a conversation private. Excuse me, Morgan began, crossing his arms over his chest, but what are you doing here, ma'am? She looked up at him. Hmm? Oh, just watching like everyone else. And please don't call me ma'am I'm not your mama. My name is Linda. Linda what? Linda MacMillan. She didn't look perturbed as Morgan pulled a small notebook out of his back pocket and wrote down her name. Oh, M-A-C not M-C, she said gently, looking at her name upside-down. And one word no spaces. Okay, Linda MacMillan. So what are you doing here? You're not observing like everybody else you're observing us. That doesn't usually sit too well with crime scene processors. Morgan tucked away the note pad and folded his arms across his chest once more. Linda looked up, intimidated. Oh, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I didn't mean to stare. Is that Dr. Spencer Reid? I've watched some of his Georgetown lectures on YouTube he's fascinating. Why don't I have any normal fans? Spencer's lamentation of years ago came back to Morgan's mind. He had to admit, homeboy did have a point and this chick's fascination with him was raising more and more alarms. What's making me uncomfortable is that killers often revisit crime scenes, or observe police movements to test response times, Morgan answered sternly, not satisfying her question. Linda, however, smiled. Sir, there's FBI written on your shirt and your face. If I were a killer, why would I have given you my name and made sure you spelled it correctly? I'd have to take you at your word it's your real name, he answered tersely, making a fair point. Linda held up one finger before digging in her enormous fringed purse then extracting a wallet. She produced her driver's license, an almost-expired passport, and a Certified Psychics Society membership card, all with the name Linda MacMillan. Morgan took out his notebook again and jotted down beneath her name the information on her driver's license. Linda MacMillan 5'1, hair red, eyes hazel, race white, DOB 5271982, age 32, Address 473 Evergreen Terrace, Seattle Occupation psychic. Linda watched everything he wrote down and snickered when he put psychic in quotes. Technically I qualify as a sensitive, and that's not my job. I only belong to that society because it's the most legitimate group of mediums, sensitives, and healers in the United States, and I offer readings to those I think would benefit from it. It helps to have some sort of certification, to put their minds at ease. So what? You're here to give us palm readings? He put away the notebook again. Linda snickered again. I might offer it if I thought you'd open your mind to the possibility of truth at all, but no. I told you, I'm here to observe. When Spencer looked over their way she gave him a small, friendly wave.