Megan's eyes widened with hurt and resentment.

Even through the buzz from the champagne, she felt the barbs in Prentiss's words. More…she saw the sneering expression of utter contempt on the agent's face. Strong emotion has a way of burning through an alcoholic fog. Emily braced herself for the attack she expected.

The unsub's face did a slow-motion crumple instead. Her bottom lip trembled. Her eyes filled, making them look too large and doe-soft.

Prentiss was having a hard time predicting this woman's reactions. As a profiler, she expected to have some kind of handle on human behavior, but Megan was all over the map. She glanced at Morgan and saw him mouth the word 'devolving.' Maybe that was it.

It made the situation all the more precarious, rendering the tactics of manipulation and negotiation, the tools of choice for professionals from the BAU…useless. Emily didn't know what she might have set in motion.

As Megan sat up, swaying beside Hotch, tears dripping into her wine, all the agents could do was hope that somewhere Rossi, Reid, J.J. and Garcia were leaving no stone unturned in the search for their lost comrades.

A thrill of dread shivered up Prentiss's spine as the unsub's hand moved from Hotch's boxers to the drawer of the nightstand. She pulled it open. After a moment of scrabbling around, she extracted the little bottle of liquid she'd claimed kept the Unit Chief quiescent. Yet aware.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"They have to be in the same building as that penthouse." Rossi was hung up on the logistics involved in a single, female unsub relocating three able-bodied FBI agents. Unless they weren't able-bodied? Unless she incapacitated them? But…how?

It was time to make use of Reid's intellectual talents.

"Hey, kid. If you were gonna knock out three people without any risk to yourself, how would you do it?"

J.J. frowned. "If anyone, especially a woman who might be the unsub came anywhere near them, the guys wouldn't let their guard down."

Reid's large amber eyes had a faraway look. He loved the game of speculation. "Well, then she'd have to do it from far enough away that they couldn't reach her. But our guys would probably take evasive procedures as soon as they saw anything suspicious, so…"

"So she'd be unseen, right? Not anywhere near them. And it would have to be a complete surprise." Rossi's eyes were locked on Reid's. They were feeding off each other's expertise, imagination, and energy.

"And it would have to be inescapable. All three of them would run for cover, probably in as many different directions to disperse the target area."

"She likes drugs." J.J. interjected. "This last killing with the gun wasn't by choice. She did it to make a point, to have impact on her conversation with Hotch. She likes poison, though. That was her first choice."

"But guys…" Reid's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Whatever happened, it could've been anywhere between here and the penthouse. Just because their phones were there, doesn't mean that's where they were when she got to them. She could've come back from wherever she took them and planted the phones afterwards." His head drooped. "God knows, she had enough time."

Rossi was silent. He was the one who'd put Reid off when the rest of the team hadn't shown up at the kill site after fifteen minutes. He and Spencer had stayed at the crime scene for a good, long time, immersed in their work. Or at least I was. Reid never stopped worrying. And he was right. He was right then. And he's right now.

They could be anywhere.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Megan held the little bottle, sloshing with liquid, close to her chest.

"This game isn't fun anymore."

Both agents waited, breathless, to discover what 'Game Over' might mean.

Prentiss was on edge. If a taunt would help their case, she was ready to make comments about spoiled brats who took their toys and went home as soon as the tide turned against them. If the opposite tactic was needed, Emily was poised to return to her maternal mode, but this time letting go of the ring of authority in favor of something warm and cuddly that would make their unsub crave more of the sweet comfort a mother-figure could dole out.

Morgan strained at the leather circling his wrists with renewed vigor. Unpredictable female unsubs were one of his nightmares. Glancing to the side, he saw his teammate's fierce concentration, watching their captor's every gesture and nuance. He didn't disturb her focus.

Megan sniffed back her tears. Swinging her legs around, she clambered over Hotch's inert body. Kneeling on the mattress beside him, she uncapped the bottle. " 'S your fault. 'Cause you're right." She hiccupped, whether from crying or drinking was unclear. " 'F we don' b'long t'geth'r…I'm gonna go."

"What? Wait!" Prentiss's sharp voice tried to cut through the unsub's absorption in her task. "You said if you left, Hotch would eventually wake up! He hasn't done anything wrong! There's no reason to hurt him! What are you doing to him?! Stop! Please, STOP!"

Even as Emily cried out, the unsub bent over Hotch. Crouching like an animal over its fallen prey, the agents couldn't see what she was doing. But there was the sound of liquid pouring. And the sound of Megan crooning to their boss. "Thas' a good boy, Aaron…Drink it all down…Thas' right." She began to cry again. "So pretty…Why would anyone leave you?... 'M sorry, Aaron…Pretty Aaron…"

Finished, the woman stumbled to her feet and made for the door. Prentiss and Morgan could see a streak of glistening liquid trailing from the corner of Hotch's mouth. He was as still and quiet as ever.

Desperate, Prentiss used her mother/authority figure voice. "Megan! Come back here. Now!"

A surfeit of alcohol in her blood made the unsub hesitate. Leaning against the doorjamb, she looked back at the three agents. Smudged mascara and eyeliner gave her a hollow-eyed look. Emily tried to make the most of the opportunity.

"Megan, listen to me. Up to now you've been hurting bad men, right? Men who betrayed love and trust and left their families with no more thought than if they'd been unwanted kittens…right?"

The unsub remained where she was, watching through half-lowered lids. Her eyes were cold, glittering slits. It sent a frisson of dread and suspicion through the agents.

"Megan, can Hotch hear us? Does he know what you did to him?" The silent reptilian regard pushed Morgan to shout. "Can he still hear us?!"

The answer was a half-smile and a delicate one-shouldered shrug. "Maybe he can…and maybe he can't…"

Prentiss was breathing hard in her agitation. "Megan, listen to me. It's not too late. You don't want to kill a good man. If you do, then no one's going to get the message you wanted to send by killing all those really bad men. So call 9-1-1 and tell them where we are. Then you can leave and no one will catch you, and everyone will know that you only went after bad men. They'll understand that."

The unsub's smile twitched. "Maybe they will…and maybe they won't…"

Morgan couldn't get the first few murders this woman had committed out of his mind. He had to know… "Did you just poison Hotch? Did you?!"

The smile finally widened to a full grin. "Maybe I did…and maybe I didn't…" She pushed away from where she'd been leaning. "I have to go now."

Trailing giggles in her wake, Megan slipped out of the door.

The agents heard her pull it closed. The latch clicked. A key turned in the lock. Departing footsteps didn't seem to stumble at all. In fact, they sounded quite sober and steady.

Another door, much farther away slammed.

Then there was silence. The silence of a vacant apartment.

The silence of Hotch lying still and pale.

The silence of a game they'd lost.