Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe or Criminal Minds.


Chapter Seven.

There were no separate hallways branching off from this, and behind her was a dead end. Her only choice was to move forward, the gun clutched in her hands, held at eye-level. It was somewhat surprising to her that the building didn't have more security, and yet, she presumed that they didn't often have their captives escaping. Not one of their victims would've been the type to take the initiative to attempt to find a way out. No, just as the man had said—they would've been too busy screaming.

The end of the hall forked off into two separate branches, and she took the left, seeing as it was more brightly lit nearer the end. It would afford her less cover, but she was hoping that the light at the end came from some sort of window or door. She made it halfway down the hall with no trouble, trying each door she came upon on the way. They were all locked, and looked as if they had not been opened for a while. Her bare feet made little noise on the concrete floor, and Olivia prided herself on her stealth, until something wrapped around her neck and pulled her backward. The gun skittered across the ground, out of her reach, and her back hit the floor, knocking the breath from her.

A man, his eyes beady and angry behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, stood over her, sputtering, "What the hell are you doing?"

She did not answer—instead, she rolled to her feet, before the man could get a firm grip on her, leaping for the gun. The man was a scientist—he hadn't been trained, as the men who had taken them from the SUV had been, and had no idea how to handle her. He was merely attempting to impede her progress. And, though he was not the most agile creature, he was quite large. This fact was made even more apparent when he decided the best choice of action was to launch himself at her a second time.

Now, though, Olivia was ready, but the hallway was narrow, and she could not completely avoid him. And so, she instead lashed out with her fist, catching the man on the chin. Blood dribbled from the side of his mouth as he called out,

"Hey! Someone get out here!" Then, he said to her, "You're not getting away that easily, girly." She had managed to get the gun from the floor as he distracted himself with the yelling, but as she was in the midst of straightening back up, he flung out his arm, taking her around the waist and slamming her into the wall. His other hand wrapped around the wrist of the hand that held the gun, and he pressed himself close to her. "Hah, you thought you could outsmart me, that you could get away from here?" He laughed. "No one gets away."

She held her breath against the rancid stench flowing from his mouth. A man had appeared at the end of the hall, yelling down to them,

"Don't let her go!"

The man who held her hostage turned his head, and as he did so Olivia wriggled, maneuvering herself in his grip so as to free one of her hands. The other still held the gun, but the empty hand she used to smash into his face. Pain shot through it as his glasses shattered around her fingers—the lenses were large, but not thick, and some of the shards embedded themselves into his face as well. He yelped, jumping backward and covering his face with his hands. Olivia loosed a bullet into his head, and he fell to the ground. She did the same to the man down the hall. It wasn't her ideal method—she would've preferred to keep them alive, if only for them to receive the punishments they deserved—but that didn't seem like much of an option now.

She raced down the hall, now with no regard for any doors, locked or not, except one that would lead her out of this wretched place. Her only objective was to get out of there, alive.

There it was—a window, at a perfect height. The room that it was in was empty, save for a wooden table and chairs in the center. She presumed whoever was involved in these experimentations used it for meetings. But, the important thing was that it was empty, and she rushed to the window without a second thought.

It was locked. She tugged and pulled at it, but it wouldn't budge, and the lock seemed to be stuck in place. She took aim at the locking mechanism, pulled the trigger, and discovered she was out of rounds. Great.

Bending back her elbow, she slammed it, hard, into the glass. Luckily, it wasn't too thick, and broke easily with the impact. Ignoring the remaining shards that tore at her skin, and those that had embedded themselves within her arm, she crawled through the now-open window. Halfway through, she realized she had no idea how far she was from the ground. She looked down, and a sigh of relief pushed past her lips. Only four feet below her was solid ground, and she dropped to her feet.

In front of her was a stretch of road, and more buildings, though none looked occupied. A few had 'For Rent/Sale' signs plastered in the windows. She took off at a run down the street, keeping close to the buildings, hoping that her captors did not spot her. She did not slow until she was two blocks from the building, and confident that no one was chasing after her. There was a gas station nearby—it looked empty, but the lights in the store beside it were on.

Inside, a single man stood behind the counter. He had his feet perched on the counter, and was flipping through some gossip magazine, an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He didn't look up as Olivia entered.

"Excuse me, sir," she said, surprised at how even her voice was. The man did not look up.

"Bathroom's in the back. You don't need a key, just go. Buy something on your way out."

She pinched the bridge of her nose, then brought her hand down forcefully on the counter. The man startled, bringing his feet to the floor with a heavy thud as he glared at her.

"What the hell is—" His expression softened as he got a good look at her. "Are you alright, miss?"

She ignored the question. "I need to use your telephone."

"Why don't you sit down, I'll get you a glass of water, and make that call for you." It was obvious he thought she'd escaped from some sort of institution, they way he stared at her scrub-clad form. Olivia was adamant, her voice firm.

"No. Sir, I am a federal agent—" His expression changed into one of disbelief. "—and I need to use your phone right now." He still did not believe her, but seemingly thought it useless to argue with her. He reached behind the counter, brought out wireless receiver, and set it down in front of her.

"I'll get you that glass of water," he murmured, moving away from Olivia as she dialed the only number that came to mind.

It rang once, twice, three times, before the call connected. "Hello?"

She was suddenly breathless as she spoke into the phone, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the receiver harder. "Peter."

"Olivia?" His voice was a mixture of shock and relief. "Is that you?"

"Yes."

"Where are you?"

And she stalled for a moment, until she was able to recall the name of the street, as she'd passed a street sign on the way here. She relayed the name back to him, then said, "Agent Prentiss and Hotchner are still inside. Hotchner was drugged; he was unconscious, and Prentiss stayed back with him."

"Are you alright?" Concern permeated his voice, oozing through the phone.

"I'm fine. Just get to them. I'm safe, they're not."

"No," he said sternly. "I'm coming to get you. The others can go; they don't need me. Stay where you are, alright?"

"I will, Peter, don't worry."

The line went dead, and she placed the receiver back on the counter. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving her feeling exhausted and shaky. She slid to the floor, her hands tangled in her hair as she focused on simply keeping her breathing steady.

#

Peter hurried out from the side room, back into the lab, shouting,

"Olivia's safe! She got out!"

Morgan and Reid eyed him warily. The former said, "How do you know?"

"She called me. I know where the warehouse is—your agents are still inside."

Reid looked somewhat puzzled. "How'd she get out?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know."

Walter clapped his hands together, grinning. "What good news! Be sure to bring them all back safely, son." Astrid was smiling as well, though neither Reid's nor Morgan's expression had changed.

Peter had his hand on the door, poised to push it open. "I'll get Olivia, and I'll give you two the address of the warehouse. I don't know how you want to go in, but—"

"Wait," interrupted Morgan, with a shake of his head. "How do you know it's not a trap?"

"What?"

"It seems unlikely that Agent Dunham would've been able to escape, after their past few victims hadn't been able to. I think our UNSUBs would be more careful than that. And, why wouldn't our agents be with her, then?"
"You don't know her. She's gotten out of worse situations than this before—"

"And so have our agents." He held up his hands, shrugging his shoulders. Peter rolled his eyes—obviously, they weren't even close to understanding the extent of what Olivia had gone through. He didn't doubt that their colleagues had gone through some bad situations, but it was nothing compared to what Olivia had gone through. "I'm just saying that we need to take some precautions." Morgan turned to Reid. "Kid, you call JJ and Rossi. Get them to meet you with a tactical team at the warehouse, and get Hotch and Emily out of there." He jerked his chin toward Peter. "I'll go with Mr. Bishop to get Agent Dunham."

Peter decided not to argue, if only to avoid further delaying getting to Olivia, even if he wasn't too happy that Morgan felt the need to babysit him. And yet, there was that bit of doubt that flashed in the back of his mind—he sure hoped it wasn't a trap. He wouldn't be able to bear losing her, after he'd been so sure she was safe. She hadn't sounded scared, only relieved, and he knew she wouldn't have had the same tone if she'd been forced to make the call.

It was as if the SUV could not move quickly enough. Peter knew, from the slight tremor of his hands, that Morgan's feelings were similar to his own, in reference to the concern he felt for his own colleagues. The address Olivia had given them was on the outskirts of the city, and the ride was excruciatingly long, even with the aid of flashing lights to expedite their journey through traffic. Morgan's knuckles paled and he gripped the wheel more tightly as they narrowly avoided impact with a taxi.

"You honestly believe they're using Olivia to set a trap for us?" asked Peter, as they neared the gas station.

To his surprise, Morgan shook his head. "No. It doesn't fit the profile; our UNSUBs would tend not to draw attention like that. But, we do need to make sure we take precautions, because our profiles aren't always completely accurate. We can't predict their every move." The SUV skidded to a stop about twenty feet from the station. "You might want to stay here until I clear the area," he warned, but Peter had already exited the vehicle. He wasn't about to wait, not when he knew Olivia was just inside. Peter wasn't stupid, however, and he did stay behind Morgan as they made their way closer to the building. There were no other vehicles nearby, and though there were windows all around the perimeter of the building, they could not immediately see anyone inside.

Morgan opened the door slowly, his gun at eye-level. It was he who saw Olivia first, still crouched on the floor beside the counter.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, eyes darting to-and-fro as he attempted to gauge the level of danger, if there was any. "Is anyone else here?"

She shook her head, standing immediately, though her legs were a bit shaky. "Only the owner." Morgan holstered his gun, and moved further inside, allowing Peter in as well. He was at Olivia's side in a flash, his hand cupping her cheek, his brows furrowed.

"You're alright?" She smiled half-heartedly and nodded. He didn't believe her, not with the blood that was smeared on her face and arms, and her torn scrubs. "How'd you get out?"

Olivia sighed. "It's a long story."

He took her into his arms, uncaring of what Morgan's opinion may be. He was just happy that she was safe, albeit obviously shaken.

The owner of the store approached Morgan. "Is she crazy?"

Morgan sighed, and patted the man on the back. "I think we all are."

Peter and Olivia had relinquished their grips on each other, though every couple of seconds Peter's eyes would dart back to her, as if to make sure she wasn't about to disappear into thin air.

"What about Agents Hotchner and Prentiss?" she asked. "Have they been rescued?"

"Reid organized a tactical team to head there now—" began Morgan and, sure enough, the sound of blaring sirens interrupted him.

"I'm sure they can handle it," said Peter, slipping his fingers around Olivia's. "Let's get you to the hospital. You need to be checked out."

And though she appreciated his concern, Olivia responded with an adamant, "No."

"No?" Even Morgan seemed surprised at her insistence. "Why not?"

"I don't know," she said, "I just have a bad feeling. I need to be sure everyone's safe before I go anywhere else."

"Olivia, come on—" started Peter, but a mere look from her was enough to silence him. He would trust her, however much he didn't want to at the moment.

Morgan shrugged. "Fine by me." He preferred to head to the warehouse as well, because despite his cool demeanor, it felt as if he were suffocating with worry over the safety of Hotch and Prentiss. It irked him that Olivia had made it out safely, and yet, she'd left Hotch and Prentiss inside. But, of course, he said nothing about it.

The three of them loaded back into the SUV and set off down the road. They were about halfway to the warehouse when Olivia suddenly said to Morgan, "Give me your gun."

He didn't question her, had already learned that she sometimes had strange reasons for her actions—reasons he wasn't sure he'd ever understand. He took his gun from his holster and handed it to her. "Need me to slow down?"

"No, keep going." She turned in her seat, taking aim through the back window at something neither Peter nor Morgan could immediately see.

"Olivia, what's going on?" said Peter. He worried that she had a concussion, or worse, and that something was screwing with her mind.

"I see someone back there." Sure enough, Peter was able to spot it—a man sneaking around an alley, ten feet behind the vehicle. "Morgan, I need you to slow down just a bit, but not too much. I don't want him to know we've spotted him." Morgan lightened up on the accelerator, and Olivia's fingers wrapped more firmly around the gun, her finger balanced on the trigger. "One-two-three." She pulled the trigger, and both she and Peter watched as the man near the alley tumbled to the ground, clutching his chest. Morgan stopped the truck, and the three of them got out.

Sure enough, as they approached the man, Olivia recognized him as the one who she'd knocked out earlier. Both Peter and Morgan held similar looks of perplexity.

"How'd you know?" asked Morgan. Olivia continued to stare at the man, so Peter prompted, repeating the question.

"How'd you know it was this guy, and not some random bystander?"

At last, Olivia shrugged. "I don't know. I just..knew." She scowled. "I should've killed him when I got the chance."

#

She did not leave Hotch's side. She removed the tubes and monitors from his body, and was right there, hovering above him as he woke up. He seemed to be in some sort of stupor, and was grinning dully at her as his eyes began to focus.

"Hello, Prentiss." His voice had lost its normal firmness—it sounded lighter, his mood more upbeat, though she knew it was merely a side-effect of the drugs. "You look nice. What happened to your face, though? Looks like it hurts."

"Yeah," she scoffed, taking a hold of his arm, "sure, I do. These scrubs are really attractive. I'm fine, it's just a cut. Can you sit up?" With some effort on her part, because Hotch wasn't exactly lucid, she managed to pull him into a sitting position. "How're you feeling?"

"Good." He stretched out his vowels as he spoke, and looked around the room as if he'd never seen it before. "Where are we, again?"

"You don't remember?"

He shrugged. "Are they coming back?"

"Who?" But he didn't answer, only continued to gaze around the room, his eyes glassy, his expression now vacant. "Damn," murmured Prentiss, "what the hell did they give you?" And she looked toward the door, wondering when they'd be let out of this godforsaken place. She hadn't wanted to let Olivia go on by herself, but she couldn't have left Hotch here. She'd rather stay captive with him, rather than leave him by himself.

There was banging on the door. "You'd better let me in there!" She didn't recognize the man's voice, but she knew it had to be one of their captors, or their captors' affiliate. "If you don't, I swear to God, you'll be dead as soon as this door is open." Prentiss said nothing, only leveled the gun toward the door. Hotch seemed to be fading a bit—the effects of the drugs, since she'd removed the drip from his arm, were not so prominent now, and were being replaced with exhaustion.

Moments later, there were gunshots, and then more pounding at the door. This time, though, she recognized the voice. "Prentiss, Hotch, are you in there?" It was Rossi. She hurried to the door and unlocked it, opening it to find Rossi, backed by a tactical team. His eyes clouded over with worry as he took in her appearance.

"Hey, you alright?" he asked, and after Prentiss nodded, he held the speaker attached to his shirt cuff up to his mouth. "Hey, JJ, I have Prentiss and Hotch here. They're safe. Once they're out, we can get the CSU in here for evidence collection." He turned back to Prentiss. "Get out of here with them—" He jerked his thumb back toward the tactical team. "—I'll get Hotch." He peered behind her shoulder at their Unit Chief, and frowned. "What's wrong with him?"

"They dosed him with something, I don't know what. I think it's beginning to wear off, though" The adrenaline was gone, and she was flooded with relief. She chuckled. "You might need some help getting him out."


Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. Don't forget to tell me what you thought of this chapter. Also, I'm very open to suggestions-what else would you like to see before this story is wrapped up?