"C'mon…c'mon…c'mon…c'mon…c'MON…"

Morgan muttered under his breath with the fervency of prayer.

Prentiss felt her eyes going dry and gritty; she was afraid to blink in case she missed some small, vital clue that Hotch might still be with them. She could hear Derek's breathing growing harsher. He began to shout again.

"Hotch!...HOTCH!...HOTCH!"

"Derek! Look!" Emily's breath caught and stopped. She wasn't sure it would start again.

The Unit Chief's chest expanded; a deep inhale.

"Oh, God! Morgan, he's alive!"

"Yeah, but he needs help. We gotta…get…out…of…here…" Each word was accentuated by a surge of muscle against his restraints. Derek began to understand how an animal could chew its own foot off to free itself of an intolerable situation. He just wished he could reach any of his bonds with his teeth. He'd tear them to shreds.

"HOTCH! Wake up, man! HOTCH!"

Prentiss made a sound; half whimper, half sob. Morgan held very still, staring.

Hotch's eyes cracked open to the merest slits. The only way they could know was the tell-tale glint coming from between his lids. It hadn't been there before.

"HOTCH!"

The Unit Chief's eyes closed again, but his chest continued to provide proof of life. Morgan and Prentiss thought the gentle movement was the most beautiful thing they'd ever seen. After a few minutes of emotional overload, Derek began bellowing at his boss again. Without being able to touch Hotch, there was no way to be certain of his condition. If straining his throat raw had spurred that small victory, he wasn't going to risk the man slipping away again.

"HOTCH!...HOTCH!..."

A half hour later when his voice failed, Prentiss took up the call…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

J.J. was nearly frothing at the mouth by the time she achieved a search warrant.

It seemed everything in Dallas moved with the speed of molasses in winter. The liaison couldn't help thinking it was a prejudicial reaction to her Yankee accent. Doesn't matter if we're all on the same side…in the business of enforcing the law. All they hear is a challenge to Southern supremacy. Or maybe it's just personal supremacy. They don't like outsiders even if we've been invited in.

Later, she would recant her opinion, but with three colleagues on the line, and a slow process drawling itself out even slower, J.J. wasn't in a charitable mood. She was teetering on the edge of frantic. And that wasn't her usual state. She didn't like it one bit.

But, at last, tired and sweaty, she sprinted back to where Rossi and Reid were quivering with impatience. "Got it!"

"For the entire building?"

"Yes! Took a while and I'm sorry, but…"

"Good work." Rossi grabbed the warrant, too keyed up to wait for any explanations or qualifications. As long as he had a fistful of official-looking papers he could shove in people's faces, he was happy. He did a practice run by waving them in front of Reid. "C'mon, kid. Let's go." He cast an apologetic eye back toward J.J.. "We need you to stay here. Just in case…"

He didn't have to finish the sentence. She knew it was in the event a call came in that bodies had been found, or someone had discovered a hostage situation in progress.

"Just go! Find them…"

J.J. watched the remaining members of her team…her family…disappear into the sultry, city-glow of the Dallas night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Prentiss's voice scratched to a halt.

Beyond exhausted, she and Morgan were beginning to doubt their own eyes. Maybe the slight rhythm of Hotch's chest was an hallucination. Maybe they were fooling themselves; imagination and their depleted physical states combining to produce a hopeful mirage.

"Morgan?" Her dry rasp was barely audible.

"I know." Derek's creaky response was leaden.

"You saw that, right? Right? You did, didn't you?"

"Yeah. I did."

Prentiss couldn't help the weak, convulsive weeping that gripped her. Dehydrated after so long without water, actual tears were minimal. Nonetheless, Morgan hated the sound of it. "Emily, don't cry. Please."

"Can't…can't…help…it…Can't…"

Apparently Derek couldn't either. He gave one rough sob before his self-control kicked in. But that one, abrasive and guttural, jolted Prentiss. She gulped down her own tears and fears. Whether or not Hotch was alive, they needed to keep working toward their own release. Training and years of experience came to the fore.

"Is there any way we can move so we're back to back?" Emily was throwing her weight against the solid construction of the chair to which she was lashed.

Morgan had already tried to move his with his greater body mass and momentum to no avail. "I don't think so. These things might as well be bolted to the floor."

"You sure they're not?" Prentiss continued her efforts with bruising force.

"Emily. Stop. You'll just hurt yourself."

A moan from the direction of the bed cut short all conversation. It was faint, weak…but the sheer fact that it had been uttered overrode all other concerns.

"Hotch!" Morgan struggled for volume. His throat was too damaged.

Transfixed by the sight, the two agents watched as Hotch's head executed a sluggish turn. There was that gleam from between his lids again. He was definitely looking at them.

"Oh, God…Hotch?" Prentiss managed to creak out the words, wishing for some of Megan's champagne to lubricate their passage.

The Unit Chief licked his lips. "H-hey."

One word. Really a throwaway sort of word. No actual meaning attached to it. Kind of a non-word, really.

But to Morgan and Prentiss, angels singing from the gates of Heaven couldn't have had more import or beauty.