Prentiss let herself relax within Morgan's encircling arms.

But her mind was still racing. When Megan had left, they'd been able to hear her muffled movements. She'd closed and locked the door, but it hadn't been such a solid barrier that sound couldn't penetrate. That had to mean something. It had to offer some tiny grain of hope. It didn't feel as though they were locked in an airtight safe.

She shifted her hold on Hotch, feeling Morgan move to accommodate the change, too. Bending her neck low, she rested her forehead against her boss's sweat-damp hair and whispered. "We're gonna get you out of here, Hotch. I swear. On my life, I swear."

If she hadn't been leaning so close, Emily might have missed the weak reply. " 'S okay. Proud 'f you. Both."

Somehow, the unasked-for accolade fanned the embers of Prentiss's animal rage back to life. She. Would. Not. Give. Up. EVER. She realized the surge of protective ferocity was what Hotch probably felt on every case. Hell, he probably feels it every time he looks down into the bullpen and sees us. She tightened her grip on him.

"Morgan, the walls. They can't be as solid as the door. We wouldn't have been able to hear that bitch leave if they were."

Derek blinked at his teammate, returning from where he'd been lost in his own thoughts and regrets. He raised his head, turning to look at the locked door once more. Maybe Emily had a point. He didn't let himself dwell on how tired and increasingly weak he felt. For better or worse, he was the muscle. He knew Prentiss drew a lot of her strength from anger and outrage. His came more from a protective, duty-bound place. It was gentler, but just as solid. It was steadier, less prone to inflammatory bursts.

Looking at the dark energy and determination snapping in his teammate's eyes, though, Morgan wished he could draw on some of that primal fury that seemed so readily available to Emily.

Releasing his hold on both Prentiss and Hotch, Derek lurched to his feet and approached the door once more. A few kicks and punches to the surrounding walls didn't tell him much, except that he was losing power. He turned to tell Emily that it was a nice idea, but he didn't think he could batter his way out.

Then he saw her eyes.

Behind the rage, underlying it, was a fateful look of sorrow. They reminded him of the look his dog, Clooney, had had when Derek had first found him. In a shelter, scheduled to die, unwanted and knowing it. The look had said 'Don't let this happen to me…' And Morgan had answered that call, unable to walk away from it.

Prentiss mouthed the words 'You have to.' And Derek knew she was right. One last battle.

Emily went back to murmuring soft words in Hotch's ear, rocking his shivering body ever so slightly. Morgan stared at the tableau. Man and woman. His friends. In many ways, his world. Two of the people closest to his heart. And the raging energy he'd envied Prentiss caught fire. Like a fuse lit by his devotion to these two, Derek ignited.

Picking up the nightstand, the only other piece of furniture in the room besides the bed and the massive chairs, Morgan heaved it into the wall over…and over…

…and over again…

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

With Rossi's snarled words about aiding and abetting kidnapping and possible murder playing in his ear, Jeff-the-doorman found the incentive he'd been lacking.

The two agents shook their heads in disbelief, exchanging disgusted glances as the man's newfound desire to be of service had the opposite effect of the one for which they'd hoped . It made him even slower; his movements rendered clumsy by a brain stuttering over the concept of abandonment within the walls of a federal prison. He seemed unable to find the correct key to unlock the private elevator that was an express trip to the penthouse. Sweating bullets, Jeff fumbled his way through several false attempts. After dropping his key ring for the third time, Reid darted in to grab them off the tiled floor.

Adrenalin may have turned the doorman into a bumbler, but it served to fuel the young genius's eidetic memory and sharp reflexes. He knew which key to select, having seen it in use twice before. Elegant fingers flew over the elevator's internal keypad with the code Reid's brain had also stored with automatic precision during their last visit.

In short order, the paneled car began its ascension with the quiet hum of a well-maintained machine.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Morgan had decimated the nightstand. It had been reduced to splintered shards, its scant contents scattered across the room during the first few impacts.

A damaged section of wall adjacent to the steel, reinforced door gave him enough encouragement to continue. Physically, his body protested the abuse, but one glance at Hotch's shivering form cradled on Prentiss's lap sent determination surging through him anew. That deep sense of duty reached into the same reservoir as Emily's anger: both had roots that they never gave much thought to. No one spent much time considering how Hotch had formed this disparate group into a force to be reckoned with.

The Unit Chief had given skill and experience its due in his selection process. But his innate ability to sense the heart and soul of each candidate was the deciding factor. The bottom line was…Hotch knew how to weave personalities with stunning effect. The best chance for each one's survival, was the others.

So now, knowing he'd given his all, Hotch had no doubt the others would follow suit. He relaxed into his misery as best he could, knowing if he didn't survive, it wouldn't be because his teammates hadn't done their level best to save him.

Head resting against Emily, he listened to the ungodly noise of Morgan breaking the bed apart, tearing pieces of lumber off, using them in his assault on the wall. Hotch couldn't ask for more.

He wished he could tell them again how proud he was of them…what a privilege it was to serve with them. But he was too tired.

With a deep sigh, Hotch released. He closed his eyes…and let go.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As soon as the elevator doors opened on the penthouse floor, they heard it.

The resonating, thudding BOOM of repeated impacts.

On a floor that was supposedly deserted.