A/N: Thank you everyone who has been reviewing, you are amazing! A good part of this chapter has been written by the Gublerific editor frog, so she deserves praise as well for this one! She has also beta readit! Fantastic, woman!

The warm air felt wonderful. Reid stood underneath the current, rubbing his hands over his frozen form. It didn't really matter where the heat was coming from; as far as the young doctor was concerned, it could be coming from exhaust fumes and it would still be welcome.

The temperature climbed steadily; it was warm at first and then began to grow increasingly hotter. Drops of sweat began to form across the young man's brow, and his clothes were slowly drying from the increased heat. Instead of being stiff and frozen, they were now damp and stiff from the salt in them.

Why salt water? he thought. Why not just tap into an available water line?

His thought processes slowly began to stir. They didn't want me to drink the water, he reasoned finally. This is about suffering—the shock and cold were enough, but to know that I couldn't gain from the added water…

His mind raced. Who on earth could I have angered so much to deserve this?

He could think of no one. Even with all of the unsubs he'd encountered and all of the relatives of said UnSubs, everyone and anyone he could think of who was connected to any case he'd worked was simply not capable of this.

What if this isn't meant for me, specifically? What if it's about leverage?

But… leverage against what?

Reid's mind was swimming. The little sleep he'd been allowed has rested him a bit, but not nearly enough for his liking. He noticed that the lights, though still dim, were back on, and that the motion detectors were not set. He sat with his back flush with the far wall of his cell, his knees drawn up to his chest, deep in thought.

------

MBS International Airport proved to be a contradiction in terms. It was an "international" airport, but it mainly ferried travelers to larger, better connected airports—Detroit Metro and Chicago O'Hare were two of its usual destinations.

It was here that the members of the BAU met up with members of the FBI field office in Saginaw, Michigan—the largest of the three cities making up the metropolitan area of mid- and central Michigan.

"Yes, Cate Carell and Angelica Monroe did disembark here." The manager of the airport searched his computer for the information requested by the federal agents by his desk.

"Do you have an address for any of them?" Hotch finally felt that something was going their way in the search for their colleague.

"Only if they payed with a credit card. Which they didn't." The manager shook his head. "I'm sorry I couldn't be of any more help."

Hotch nodded at Morgan, as if telling him to go check if anyone with Angelica's description and luggage had rented a car at the airport that Friday. The younger agent gave a nod in return and left the office to contact the rental services.

Hotch shook the manager's hand and left. Pulling up the small Nokia from his pocket, he dialed the number to Garcia. Not even an entire signal passed before the bright voice answered.

"Garcia."

"Garcia, what do you have on Cate Carell?"

"Not much. She got a speeding ticket a few years back, that's pretty much all I have."

"Can you send the file to the Saginaw police station?"

"I will. And I'll do a further check on Carell and find out where she lives. If I find something I'll send it with the file."

"Perfect. Thanks Garcia. And Garcia?"

"Yeah?"

"Get some rest."

"I'll try."

Hotch hung up. Finally, something was going right. They had a physical place to go in their hunt for the UnSub. But it was getting late. Nearing 9 PM, Hotch's mind was about to shut down. He needed sleep, and he knew the rest of the team did too.

Earlier, Garcia had told him about the success in solving the last clue, and that there were going to be no more clues until tomorrow. That made it possible for her and Gideon to rest, gathering up their strength for tomorrow. He had a feeling Morgan would not be up for resting before the UnSub was caught, but there was really no choise.

He went to talk to Morgan; try to convince him to get some rest at the hotel room Garcia had booked for them. On the way to see his younger subordinate, he dialed the phone once again, this time to Prentiss and JJ. They too needed to rest before flying in to Saginaw.

------

The temperature was getting steadily warmer. Reid felt as though he could melt inside his damp, itchy, salt-filled clothes. A part of him wished he could change his clothes, but the likelihood of him being able to get new clothes seemed impossible. Even if new clothes were miraculously provided, the young doctor questioned whether he would want them—what if they're laced with something, like poison or itching powder or fleas or something?

He took a look at his clothes. They were nothing out of the ordinary—a striped dress shirt and brown pants (he had left his tie in Angelica's apartment)—but there was now a deeper resonance about them.

They were his. His clothes. He'd picked them out; he'd decided to put them on that morning.

They were the last remnants of a reality he was slowly beginning to think would never be his again.

The young doctor sat on the damp concrete, deep in contemplation, when he heard the hatch door above him creak open.

Reid rose from the floor and ventured cautiously towards the opening.

"Hello?" he called. As before, there was no answer.

"Please, talk to me," he called again, his voice beginning to crack. "Why am I here?"

Again, there was only silence.

Reid tried desperately to engage his captor in some form of conversation; it felt like years since he'd heard anything but the sound of his own voice.

A familiar object hurtled down towards the young man; it was the small basket. This time, however, it stopped about chest level with the agent.

Reid peered inside. The basket held a simple note and a small bag. Above, the line jerked; Reid emptied the carrier of its contents and the basket once again disappeared out of sight. The door slammed shut with a familiar metallic clang and the sounds of locks falling into place.

Deflated, Reid took the bag and note and once again sat on the floor near the wall. The rising heat was quickly drying the room, and the concrete had actual dry patches littering the floor, but the humidity was intense and made it difficult to breathe at points.

The young man opened the bag first. It was burlap, and full of nuts—almonds and cashews. Realizing the last bit of food had probably gone bad due to the sudden soaking and cold shock, he grabbed a handful of the nuts and began to devour them. They were salted, but for the starving agent they were like eating a piece of paradise.

The salt, however, made Reid thirsty. He eyed what water he had left—there were still three full bottles and about an eighth of the fourth bottle remaining. Carefully, he retrieved his precious drinking glass from its corner—it somehow managed to survive the sudden freezing unscathed—and managed to pour a small glass of water without spilling a drop.

The water tasted like heaven. It was cool, clear, and clean to the tongue.

Returning the glass to its protective spot, Reid focused his attention onto the letter. It was significantly longer than the previous ones, and he studied it closely.

Dr. Reid, the time has come for you to make some hard choices, the letter began. Up until now I have been fairly generous, but in order to receive anything more, you will now have to give up something in return.

"Give up?" Reid said, half aloud. "Give up what?"

You're probably thinking "what could I possibly have to give up?" the letter continued. Well, it's simple. Take stock of what you have; you'll find you have a lot.

Here's how this will work: I will ask you for something, and you will get something in return. The choice is yours on whether or not you want what I offer; however, there's only so long for you to decide before you forfeit it. I assure you, you won't be able to forgo everything. There'll be something eventually that you'll want.

Right now, I offer this: a full dinner and a dry towel. Here's what I want: your pants. You have until the door opens to decide.

Reid dropped the letter to the floor. The thought of actual food—real food, not just bits to tide him over—was extremely tempting. A new towel—one not as soaked and as salt-filled and as filthy as the one he had—would be pleasant.

But then, he thought about what he'd be giving up. Reid ran his hands over his pants; the feel of familiar cloth that covered his now-boiling legs. Though he'd like nothing more than to take them off, he feared what might happen if the temperature suddenly dropped below freezing again.

I might catch cold. I might get frostbite. I might…

Suddenly, the hatch creaked open again. The line dropped, and the basket appeared on the floor.

Reid stared at it for a few moments, trying to decide his next step.

--

"No, Hotch I will not get some rest! Not until we get this son of a bitch!" Morgan raged at the idea of going to sleep when one of his best friends was trapped in a cell somewhere.

"Morgan, you know you have to. I don't want to either; I want to find the UnSub as much as you, but we have to get some rest. There's nothing more we can do tonight. We have to wait for Garcia to send the info on Carell." Hotch tried to calm his co-worker down; tried to get some sense into him. Morgan had to realize that they couldn't run on fumes, they had to eat – and sleep – if they were going to find Reid.

Had Morgan hair of any length on his head, he would have torn it out. He paced forwards and backwards in the near-empty terminal, hands on his head. The man looked ready to explode at any moment. "It's my fault, Hotch", he groaned. "I shoved him into that woman's arms, and now..."

"Don't say that. This is not your fault. No one could see this coming." Hotch had lost count of how many times he had reassured the younger agent that he could not take responsibility in this matter. This was the work of a very organized UnSub, and there probably would have been nothing anyone could have done. If the UnSub did have his or her eyes on Reid, he or she would have gotten to him in one way or an other; no matter if Morgan had encouraged his younger colleague to talk to the woman in the bar.

"I can't, I just..." Morgan dropped his arms and looked his superior straight in the eyes. "I feel so damn helpless."

"We all do." Hotch placed a hand on his colleague's shoulder. "That's why we need to be at our best when we resume this tomorrow. We'll have more information then, something tangible."

Morgan reluctantly nodded, and followed his boss to the government issued SUV that was waiting for them in the parking lot.

--

The young agent looked at the basket in dismay. He could feel his stomach ache and rumble, and the fact that the cell was getting warmer and warmer did not make matters any better. He wanted food - real, actual stomach-filling food - so badly.

Is it worth it? I really need food, and it's so warm... he thought. The note had said the young doctor would have to make difficult desicions, but this?

The young man made his desicion. He had to survive. Unbuttoning his pants, he let them drop to the warm cement floor. Blushing badly from the shame in showing himself to his captor, he folded his trousers and placed them neatly in the basket, then stepped away.

Once again, the basket disappeared up into the opening. A few moments passed by, and it returned. Slowly lowering towards the floor, Reid could feel the wonderful smell of cooked meat. As the basket hit the floor, the young man nearly pounched on it, taking out its contents before whoever held the line changed their mind.

There was a plate covered in saran wrap, filled with meat, gravy and potatoes. On top of the plate lay a plastic knife and fork, a small container of milk and to Reid's surprise – a piece of orange Jello. He almost ripped the ceran wrap from the plate, enjoying every second of its divine smell before jamming his fork in the biggest piece of meat there was.

The young doctor didn't even notice the basket disappearing and the hatch being closed. Nor did he mind the fact that he was sitting in nothing but his socks, boxers and shirt on the floor of the cell, hastily scarfing down the food given to him.

Food had never tasted better. He knew he should take sensible bites, but he couldn't stop himself. The young agent practically threw the food into his mouth and only chewed it briefly before swallowing. Gravy ran down his chin as he put a huge chunk of potato in his mouth, closing his eyes in pure enjoyment. Food! It's so good! he thought.

The entire meal was finished in less than five minutes, and the young man put his fork down on the plate, leaning back on his arms. His stomach actually felt full, for the first time in days; or what he could only imagine to be days.

He turned to the camera, looking up at it with big puppy-eyes. "Thank you."

Moments later, the cell turned a deep opaque, and all that could be heard were the hitched breathing and faint whimpers of a very frightened agent, who had once again been left alone to face his greatest fear: the dark.

--

Garcia's hair had fallen down over her face as she had slumped over on her desk. The day had physically and mentally exhausted her, and the blonde computer wizard had fallen into a deep sleep amidst her screens and keyboards.

Nearby, Gideon had involuntarily drifted away into dreamland in his wooden chair by the wall. Arms crossed and chin dropped to chest, the rugged agent resembled a 19th century sheriff sleeping in his chair outside the office. His dreams were less pleasant. Every UnSub he had ever encountered and every wife of them flashed before his eyes, even in his sleep.

On the screen beside Garcia the file meant for Hotch in Saginaw could still be seen; the file she had fallen asleep before sending.