If you are new to Sonata in G, please go and read Movements I & II before this. Trust me, it's for your own good.

Related episode: 3.1 Doubt

Diminished Seventh Chord- a four note chord that is comprised of a diminished chord with an added diminished seventh; it is often used as a passing chord or in a key change

"I think you need to talk to someone, Rae."

I was sitting at the kitchen table in my father's apartment, eating toast and drinking orange juice. Dad sat across from me, coffee cup in hand and an empty plate where his scrambled eggs had been.

It had been almost four months since Mom's death and funeral. Four months of living with Dad, a situation I had never had before. Four months of trying to pretend I was okay so that Dad stopped looking so damned guilty just by looking at me. Needless to say, things could be better.

I swallowed another bite of toast and marmalade and took another sip of juice. There wasn't a good answer for me to give my waiting father. Sure, Dad, I'll spill my guts to anyone you send me to. Or I could say, what, are you nuts? I'm fine and don't need to talk to anyone. Both would be bald-faced lies and unfortunately, Dad could spot a lie straight off, even if I wasn't his daughter.

I settled for asking, "Do you really think it would make a difference?"

There was no answer for that, just as I expected. We'd had this conversation, or variations of it, throughout the summer while we both tried to adjust to our sudden road blocks. Dad hadn't had a teenager living with him for almost a decade, and his other offspring was a son, not a daughter. Likewise, I was trying to live with having a father around and not a mother, a brand spanking new experience for me. Add to that the fact that he blamed himself for Mom's death and some days I agreed with him… It had been a long summer.

"I worry about you," Dad told me. That wasn't anything new. "And I'll worry more when I go back into the field. There's a case being presented today and I think the team will be flying out today."

I should have felt angry that Dad found it so easy to go back to work when it was his job that had at least greatly contributed to Mom's death, if not was the sole reason. That was what really told me I wasn't my normal self yet. But I had been expecting him to go back to the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit for weeks now as a full field agent.

"It's fine, I'll be fine," I repeated myself from our other conversations. "I'm seventeen and it's not like I've never been left on my own before."

"Never for more than one night at a time," Dad argued.

I looked him straight in the eye. "What do you propose, Dad? Can you think of any other way to go back to work and stay home with me at the same time? If you can, I'd love to hear it."

Again, no answer. I finished my breakfast and then went back to my room to finish getting ready. My room here was about half the space I was used to, 10 x 10, with barely enough room for the twin bed, my desk, dresser, and a single set of bookshelves. One corner had Hannah's litter box and cat tower, where my gray tabby was currently hiding. She didn't like any of these changes either.

I opened my closet and swapped out my tee shirt for a tank top and cotton button up that I left open. Jeans I had on already, and I slipped into sandals for the warmer temperatures that were sticking around in September. I braided my hair, brushed my teeth, and put on some eye shadow and lip gloss. Auto pilot had become my friend.

Just a month into my junior year, and having school was already helping me. I had a schedule, something to focus on and keep my busy. I went to my classes, did my homework, practiced my music. It was so much better compared to the summer days with nothing to do and no where to go. Half the time, especially in the beginning, I had just stayed in bed all day.

With my messenger bag over my shoulder, I went back out to the living room, ready to go catch the bus to school. Dad was still at the kitchen table.

"I want you to talk with someone, Rachel," he said quietly but forcefully. Before, it had always been asking me if I wanted to or just saying he thought it would be a good idea, like earlier.

"Are you talking to someone?" I challenged. Somehow, I couldn't see my emotionally closed down, FBI profiler father sitting down and talking out his feelings with anyone.

"I had to, to come back to work," Dad answered.

Here's the thing with a lot of Dad's answers to my questions: they do technically address my question, but they don't actually directly answer them. He didn't say he chose to talk with someone, or that he felt better for it. Or that he still was. He just "had to" so that he could go back to getting into other peoples' heads.

"Yeah, well, until I have to, I'm not going to," I said, hoping and not believing that that would be the end of it.

"This isn't an option any more," Dad dictated. "You have to. You're going to."

Now I was angry and it felt wonderful. "I want to talk with Mom. I want my life back. But I can't have that, can I? And whose fault is that?"

I stormed out of the apartment and raced down the two flights of stairs. Three blocks away, I stopped at the public bus stop and sat down hard on the bench. I braced my shaking hands against my thighs and breathed in slowly through my nose and out my mouth.

I shouldn't have said that. I had been so careful to never say those words because I knew that even if I was feeling it at the time, saying it out loud wouldn't change anything or make me feel better. And it would hurt Dad. It had hurt Dad, I could see that as I had left. My anger turned into guilt and shame, almost choking me. And if he did end up going out on this case, I wouldn't even be able to apologize for it tonight. Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

I arrived to school in a black mood, still upset with Dad and myself. I could barely concentrate in French and Statistics, my first morning classes, and study hall was torture with nothing else to distract me. After those, I got to orchestra and Michael was waiting for me.

We always made an odd looking pair, no matter the day. My clothes were clean and colorful, Michael almost always wore worn and holey jeans and dark but faded tee shirts. He was tall and lean, I was shorter and better fed. In addition to all that, there's the fact that he's practically an outcast to the rest of the school, and I still had other friends—though I had lately lost a lot of those when I almost fell off the face of the planet during the summer.

And while our backgrounds could read like we were completely opposite, we now had a lot more in common. Michael's dad was abusive, mine was just distant and absent. We were both without our moms, but his had run off when he was still a kid and mine…well, yeah.

Most of all, Michael and I worked as friends because we both listened and neither of us judged the other. He, more than anyone else, had become my anchor in life. On days that he hadn't work at the auto shop and I couldn't get out of bed, he would sneak in while Dad was at work, just sitting on the floor next to my bed. He never talked to me, he just sat with me so I wasn't alone. If ever I lost Michael, I knew I would crack.

"Bad morning?" he asked me as I retrieved my music from my slot.

"Yeah," I answered wearily. "Epically bad."

Before, we didn't touch all that often. Lately, we were much more likely to hug, lean against each other, even just grab hands. Michael grasped my shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. I bent my neck so that my cheek touched his hand. Just for that moment, no longer than a single breath, we stood like that before separating to our sections in the orchestra, him to percussion and me to the woodwinds. I saw the look on Ashley Martin's face a row ahead of me with the cellos. She looked equal parts disgusted and furious.

I still technically had a boyfriend, Mark Amborn, who I wouldn't see until lunch and then band later. Despite the lack of communication over the summer, Mark was still friendly to me with no indications that he wanted to break up with me. And it wasn't that I wanted to break up with him, I just couldn't talk with him about how I was feeling. So, we were still together but everyone else believed I was cheating on him with Michael.

But no matter what the small-minded, juvenile gossips thought, there was nothing romantic between Michael and me. Just such a strong friendship that they couldn't understand.

At the end of rehearsal, our teacher, Mr. Rose, reminded us to pick up fliers for our citrus sale to help us go to Chicago over spring break. When Michael would have walked past, I elbowed his ribcage and gave him a look.

"I'm not going without you," I told him honestly. The band was going too and I had friends there as well, but I needed Michael.

He looked like he wanted to fight me on it, but eventually, he took a handful of fliers. "I'll pass them out to customers at the shop."

I nodded my approval and then we went our different ways. Physics AP kept me occupied and then at lunch, I sat with Mark, some of his friends, my old friend Alicia and some other girls. I sat next to Mark, summoning a thin smile for him when he passed over the root beer he had gotten me.

"We never did anything for your birthday," Mark commented about half way through lunch.

"That's not true," I protested. "You gave me those headbands I like and told me happy birthday. That's all I needed."

Mark wasn't good enough to spot my lie. Oh, the gift and the greeting was all I needed from him, of course. And Michael had also remembered, giving me incense and candles. But the only thing I wanted was impossible.

"But we didn't celebrate," Mark argued. He probably didn't realize that I didn't want to celebrate. "There'll be some warm weather this weekend, let's go down to the beach one last time this year."

I knew he meant well and I didn't want to burn all my bridges. "Sure," I said. "The beach sounds great, but let's have it be just because, not for my birthday."

"Whatever you say."

The rest of the day passed and I caught the bus back to Dad's apartment. I probably could still have asked for a ride from Alicia's mother, but things were rocky between us and had been for awhile. Alicia had been my first friend when I moved from California to Virginia. We were friends through middle school, but things had changed when we reached high school for a lot of reasons. She didn't understand my envy at her nuclear, traditional family and I think she started to resent how easily schoolwork was still for me. Then especially as I started seeing Mark, a guy half the female population would kill to date, it seemed like she could never stop digging at me.

One of the last real deep conversations I had had with my mom was about whether or not to end our friendship. After, it just never seemed like the time to talk it out with Alicia herself, so I've left it up in the air. With all of that in mind, I didn't want to be asking favors.

On the bus ride, I checked my cell phone and saw the voice mail from Dad. As I had expected and feared, he had left on the case with the rest of the team. He would be home in a few days and we would talk more then. If I needed anything, I could call Penelope Garcia, the BAU's technical analyst who stayed in her office to offer her expertise.

I thought about calling back, but what we needed to say to each other would be better done in person, so I checked the fridge for dinner options, unloaded my books in my room, and fed Hannah who was still exploring her new home.

That night was quiet and uneventful. I finished my homework easily enough. I heated up a bowl of tomato soup and made a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner. Probably one of the most noticeable differences in me since Mom's murder was that I was practically vegetarian. Most meats, especially in their raw forms, gave me horrific flashbacks and I have now lost taste for them. Seafood I could still manage, and sometimes I could eat chicken in soups or if it had already been cooked. And even then, I've been relying on cheese and eggs and peanut butter for most of my protein intake.

The rest of the night I spent in my room, practicing my music and trying to read for fun. The rest of Dad's apartment freaked me out with the bird posters and trains. I thought again for the thousandth time over the summer, I needed a job.

It was later in the night that Dad called me.

"And you're okay on your own? If you're not comfortable, call Garcia. Or why don't you stay with your friend Alicia?"

I didn't feel like getting into it about Alicia with Dad, so I just answered, "I'm fine, Dad. Really. This way I can practice and blast my music without bothering you."

"If you're sure… We might be here through the weekend."

"What's the case?" I asked, trying to keep Dad talking while I worked up the nerve to say what I needed to say.

There was a long pause before Dad answered. He had never been happy talking about his cases with me to begin with. Now he was even more hesitant.

"Young women on a college campus are being killed. We're working on the profile now."

I had nothing to say to that. Dad didn't offer details and I didn't ask for those. Before, I had wanted to know exactly what was going on. Then I saw it face to face in the form of a serial killer coming into my home and butchering my mother across the hall from where I had been tied up. Frank hadn't done anything to me directly, I came out of it without a scratch. All of my wounds were internal.

"Dad, about this morning…" I said, steeling myself. "I didn't mean to say that."

Dad sighed over the phone heavily. "I know, Rae."

He didn't call me on the fact that even though I hadn't meant to say that stuff, didn't mean that I didn't mean it. Part of me thought that Dad believed it was his fault, too, that Mom was dead. Dad and I had lost a lot of our conversation in the past few months. I was still too upset by everything else to be concerned by it.

I went to my junk drawer, surveying its contents. Michael had given me several sticks of incense in multiple scents for my birthday, including rose, lavender, and citrus. I took one of the rose ones, placed it in the silver holder, lit it and blew it out. I also took out a sage green votive candle and lit that too.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I said quietly. "I'm trying."

I was in bed at a decent hour, though it took me a while to fall asleep. Friday went much the same as Thursday had, minus the argument, of course, and that Garcia came over for dinner.

"Thai food tonight, chica," she said walking in, her voice as bright as her clothing. "Veggie Pad Thai for two and fried tofu with sweet chili sauce." Garcia was also vegetarian.

Dad had probably asked her to check in on me in person. Or maybe she had thought of it herself. Garcia was kind of awesome like that. She was the least likely looking FBI employee you could ever think of with half her blond hair died different colors, clunky cat's eye glasses, and a wardrobe that often involved bold patterns, bright colors, and daring styles. She had a nickname for just about everyone, multiple nicknames for the people she really liked. And she was brilliant in a scary, Big Sister way with her computers, like a cross between Oracle from Batman and Ducky from The Land Before Time.

Garcia very pointedly did not discuss the case with me and insisted we watch Labyrinth with David Bowie and Jennifer Connelly from before she was famous. Hannah even came out and greeted this stranger when she was normally the shiest creature I've ever known. During the assault on the Goblin City, Garcia turned to me and eyed me carefully.

"Tell me you have something planned for this weekend," she said. "Something fun that gets you out of this apartment."

I felt a moment of gratitude toward Mark. "Beach trip," I answered. "There's a group from school going to hang out."

"Good," Garcia ruled imperiously. Somehow, I still didn't mind her tone or presumption to tell me what she thought I obviously needed. Instead of coming off as patronizing as Dad did, Garcia was more like a somewhat skewed version of a fairy godmother.

Garcia was reassured enough to leave me on my own for the night and the next day. About mid-morning, I put on my two piece red bathing suit that Mom would have called cute and Dad would have made me throw out. Over that I had khaki capris and a loose pull over shirt. I packed my wallet, keys, and cell phone with my sunglasses, sunscreen, beach towel, and water bottle into my canvas duffel bag.

Liz Peterson picked me up on the street, with Alicia in the front seat already. During the ride, Liz picked up my usual role of countering Alicia's complaints about family and school work while I remained silent. Luckily, Liz was able to change the topic to our trip to Chicago during spring break.

We even kept up the conversation when we caught up to everyone else, set up on the beach by the volleyball net. Most of us were band or orchestra students, and anyone who wasn't, was either an athlete with practices that week, or families that were going away on vacation. We would have a handful of concerts at local auditoriums or churches and would visit museums during the day or other touristy things.

In the end, there were nearly twenty of us there, and Mark was even able to convince me to play volleyball for a short time. I took some time to myself to swim in the still warm water before I returned to the beach where someone had started a fire in the stone pit. I dried off, put my clothes on, and wrapped up in my towel as the sun set and the temperature started to drop.

Mark brought me a metal skewer and sat down next to me, sharing his body heat, as marshmallows were passed around to roast. I basked in the warmth of the fire and the warmth of the body next to mine. As we all sat around, talking, laughing, and teasing, I actually started to relax and enjoy it. For the first time in months, I didn't feel quite so empty. It wasn't perfect yet, I still had aches in my heart and mind with a small hollow spot that kept me from participating all the time, but it was just a little bit better.

By the end of the night, I was snuggled between Mark's legs, resting with my back against his chest and his arms around my body, just underneath my breasts. His face was close to my ear, his nose buried in my now salty hair. In the growing dark, no one could see him plant soft kisses on my cheek and neck. Despite the fact that we'd been dating for over a year, we hadn't slept together yet. I hadn't felt ready and thankfully, Mark was willing to wait until I was. Then, I practically ignored him all summer. But now, feeling somewhat alive for the first time in four months, I wondered if that had been a big mistake.

I got a ride home from Mark and let him walk me up to Dad's apartment. In the doorway, Mark kissed me until I was breathless, letting me know without words he was still very interested. His hands held conservatively on my hips to say he was still waiting for me.

With my lips and hands, I promised him, soon.

I slept dreamlessly that night and woke up feeling refreshed. After a shower, I cleaned the apartment and started the laundry. Dad walked in around noon. One look and I knew it had been bad. Within seconds of putting his go-bag down on the floor, Dad had me locked in his arms, one around my back and the other cradling my head and stroking my hair.

By mutual and silent consent, we didn't talk about anything serious that day, which meant we really didn't talk all that much. I added the clothes from his go-bag to the laundry while he picked more clothes to put in it. We made a pan of mushroom and pepper strata for dinner and then said our good nights early and separated to our rooms.

I had had some good days in the past week, some bad days, and some that were hard to qualify as either. And even whenever I managed to smile genuinely, I still felt that gaping hole in my heart where love, comfort and security used to be. Slowly, so slowly I could barely feel sometimes, I was healing. Or at least, scabbing over the wound.

Notes:

It is so good to be posting again! I have really missed sharing Rachel's story and getting your feedback, I couldn't wait any longer. Some logistics-I haven't finished with the third season yet, but I'd say it's about half way done. As I hinted earlier in the spring, I'll post chapters consistently, but in installations. Right now, I'm planning on giving you guys the first five chapters in a row, followed by a break as I get caught up. Then I'll either have everything done, or I'll give you the next chunk of chapters. Just to let you all know what's going on.

So, season three, here we go. This is probably the season where I've known for awhile what I've wanted to do and just had to get through seasons one and two to get here. And I would like to remind everyone that I will not be deviating from cannon. What that means specifically for Rachel, you'll find out soon. A lot of change happens in this year, and I mean, a lot. I hope that everyone continues to enjoy it and feels free as always to leave me any comments they want to share. Really, the more the merrier.

That all being said, happy reading!

Cantoris