"Without a family, man, alone in the world, trembles with the cold." - Andre Maurois

Mallory Parker watched the blood from her wrists ooze out onto the dirty pavement, wishing that she would just disappear. Ignoring the physical pain she caused herself from the knife blade, she smiled because for once, she wasn't feeling the emotional pain of neglect and abandonment that had become a permanent fixture in her life from childhood. At 22 years old, the young woman had experienced more pain and hardship than most people ever faced in their entire lives. Not to mention, without a permanent job or home, she was one of many living on the streets in Bluffdale, Utah.

The morning sun was just starting to peer into the dim alley, where she and a few others had camped for the night and she let the dusty blanket around her shoulders fall to the ground. Closing the jackknife, the young woman slipped it into the pocket of her worn and faded blue jeans, letting the blood from her slit wrists stain the pavement and her pants. Bringing her hand up to her face, she wiped away the few tears she had shed and took a look around at her surroundings.

A bunch of others destined to roam the streets for survival ducked out from behind dumpsters and other permanent fixtures of the alley. Some were old and had been there for years. Others, like herself had only been in this situation a few years, some only a few months. While she wondered what their stories were and if they were similar to her own, she never asked. It was like an unspoken rule out on the streets to keep to yourself or in a band of a few others. Not everyone forced out onto the streets were friendly. Camped nearby were Sonny, Ginger, Spike, Peddlar, Rusty, Squinty, and Lefty. It was all nicknames out here and they were usually demeaning names the others had given. For example, out here she wasn't known as Mallory. She was known as Spanky.

Although she hadn't of gotten much sleep during the night, she still felt rejuvenated, ready to face whatever hell the new day would bring, praying that someday, someone would save her from this nightmare.

xXx

"I am glad to be back!" Emily Prentiss exclaimed, walking into the crowded bullpen of the Behavioral Analysis Unit early on a Monday morning. Her husband, Derek Morgan chuckled at her response to being back at work after their two week vacation to Jamaica. Dropping her belongings on the ground by her desk, the woman patted her husband's shoulder as she scooted past him. Wandering over to the tiny kitchenette, the profiler saw an amused David Rossi watching her from the catwalk overlooking the bullpen.

"You're glad to be back," the older profiler commented with an amused smirk on his face. "And I'm not sure whether or not to thank you for getting us two weeks off or slap you for getting us two weeks off."

Derek, who had followed Emily to the kitchenette to grab some coffee, nudged the brunette in the side with his elbow. Grinning, he exclaimed, "We got the power, Baby!"

"What are you talking about, Derek?" Emily asked, stirring splenda into her own mug of coffee.

"Because of our vacation, the team got off as well," he said. "We shut down the whole BAU, Baby!"

Rolling her eyes, Emily took a sip of the hot, caffeinated beverage. "There are other teams," she reminded him.

Shaking his head, Derek followed her over to the clutter of desks her desk was located. Taking a seat, Emily set her mug down and quickly booted up the computer to check her email. Derek, perched himself on the edge of her desk, animatedly telling her about the first time he went to Jamaica and how the vacation was cut short due to his friend Elle getting arrested for homicide.

Peeling her eyes away from the computer screen, Emily looked at the agent perched on her desk. "You have the worst luck when it comes to vacation," she commented.

"What do you mean by that, woman?" he asked, raising his brow in question.

"Well," the brunette profiler drawled, counting on her fingers. "You just told me about your first vacation to Jamaica ended within two days of being there because of a homicide. Then, you get arrested when you went home to visit your mother, and for two days while I was out sightseeing and shopping, you were stuck in our room sick."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. "I just ate some bad shrimp."

Penelope Garcia flounced into the room just then, her blonde hair bouncing up and down on her shoulders. Immediately, the annoyed technical analyst marched up to the couple congregated at Emily's desk and jabbed a manincured nail in Derek's chest. "You, didn't send me a post card!" she exclaimed, frowning. Next, she turned to Emily. "And you!" she exclaimed louder, wagging her finger at Emily as one might do to a misbehaved child. "Your phone was turned off!"

Smiling, Emily responded with, "I never answer my phone on vacation."

"You didn't answer your phone and my stud muffin didn't send me the post card he promised," Garcia mused. Her frown turned into a grin as she folded her handeds, practically begging. Right now there was only one possible solution in her head as to why her friends hadn't kept their promises and she prayed she was right. "Oh please tell me, we're going to have little Derek's and Emily's running around the BAU!"

"Emily, you're-" The familiar voice of Dr. Spencer Reid asked as the genius plopped into the chair at his own desk.

"No!"

"Too bad," Jennifer "JJ" Jareau commented as she handed a file to each of the agents in the room. "You'd make a great mother."

Shrugging off JJ's comment as if it were an unwanted sweater, Emily flipped through the file the media liason had just given her as the others dispersed, getting ready for the breifing that would take place in less than an hour. Then pushing himself away from his wife's desk, Derek walked the short distance over to his own to start on his own work. The bullpen was full of the usual buzz a Monday morning brought as the agents milled around filling coffee cups and asked about each other's weekends while doing their assigned tasks.