OC POV

"Hi Rachel, I'm Agent Morgan, this is Agent Prentiss. We're from the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. Can we ask you a few questions?" The very attractive black man was polite, but official. He stood slightly in front of the woman, protectively.

"What about?" I tug on the sleeves of my shirt, stretching them down to cover my palms.

"Your father," Agent Prentiss said softly. Her long raven hair fell in gentle curls, framing her pale face that had magnificent, big brown eyes. Soft pink lips were set in a serious line, but she had laugh lines beside her worry wrinkles.

"What do you want to know? Didn't you get him? I mean, aren't you sending him to jail?"

"We are actually doing follow up. We want to know everything in his daily life. It's research for the government and it would be much appreciated if you could answer some questions," Agent Morgan said, once again polite but overly official.

"Sure," I say, not really giving a damn at this point. After all, I am stuck in a "temporary care" facility where I will probably stay until I'm eighteen. Then I thought about it, "Actually, can I just talk to you," I say, nodding to Prentiss.

"Of course," she says, not fazed at all by my request. Morgan leaves us alone in my room at the facility, and Prentiss begins. "What can you tell me about his regular day that you knew about?"

"He'd wake up, go to work at nine, come home at five, get drunk, sometimes leave, sometimes stay. When he left, I assume he went to go get those girls, but that was mostly recent," I say calmly, smoothing my words with disinterest.

"What about when he stayed?" Prentiss looked at me with knowing eyes, and I looked away, hating having to tell the truth. I shrugged, trying to get her to back off, but it only encouraged her. "It's okay, he isn't here now," she said softly, leaning towards me.

"He would get pretty wasted, beat and rape me, and fall asleep. Happy now?" I spat at her. Her sad eyes told me she was not. Prentiss took a deep breath in and held it for ten seconds.

"Lately he had been going out though. How long would he stay away?"

"About three, four hours, I guess. He always came home and fell asleep. I thought it was good he was spending time away. Little did I know," I say with a bitter laugh. Prentiss looked sadly at me, and once more I grabbed my sleeves and pulled them to my fingertips. It didn't go unnoticed.

"What's on your arm?" Prentiss asked.

"Nothing," I say coldly. She let it go for the moment. Then she preceded with more uncomfortable questions about my evil, son of a bitch father.

Emily POV

"Hey princess, don't cry," Derek said and wrapped his arms around my waist. I buried my face into his neck and inhaled. He smelt like detergent, sweat, and my shower gel.

"She was so torn, so de-humanized. Damn, she couldn't make eye contact or stand to be touched. And she was hiding her arms. I think she might cut, or do smack, or maybe there are really bad bruises," I raggedly said, my heart hurting just thinking about her. Derek held on tighter and one hand stroked my hair softly. "Love you," I tell him.

"I love you too. Its okay, baby. Come on, let's lie down. I know it broke your heart to see her and hear her, just know that we will make sure she gets the best possible care," Derek said to me, walking me to the edge of the bed and letting me curl into a ball. He curls himself around me, shielding me from the world, and kisses my forehead. I turn up to face him and gently press my lips to his. It was a kiss that showed that he was there, and I was with him. Together, we restlessly fell asleep.

"Oh no, Derek, not when I talk to Hotch," I say and answer my phone. I keep my eyes on the road in front of me as he informs me about what to do next. Derek and I were left behind yesterday to wrap up the town while the rest of the crew went to the state prison to interrogate our prisoner. Derek was teasing my thigh with his finger, drawing patterns over my skin. The skirt I wore today went to my knees, but rose quite a bit when I sat down. Derek enjoyed this. Trying to keep my composure on the phone, I told Hotch everything about the interview yesterday. He directed me to make sure Rachel was in a good place, had options, etc… When he finally hung up, I glared at Derek. "Really? I could barely breathe that whole time on the phone." He smiled and pulled his hand away. I turned back to the road frowning, wishing he would replace it.

"What now?"

"We call the place Rachel's in and make sure everything's alright. Then we grab any leftover reports and head back," I say. He replaces his hand, pressing his whole palm on top my thigh. He begins to slide it in farther, and I place both hands on the wheel.

"You're tense," he mutters in my ear, right before sucking my collarbone. I gasp when he hits my pulse point.

"And you think that while I'm driving is a good place to release it?" I say, trying desperately to be angry but not quite managing as I feel his hand move in circles on my leg.

"Hmmm… Yes, I do," he says against my warm skin. He unbuttons my shirt and smiles when he realizes it's a front clasp bra.

"Derek! What if someone sees," I object before realizing we were on a small county road with no cars around. Derek responds with pushing my bra through my shirt sleeves and off.

- "Feel better?"

"Yes, I…I guess I did need that," I admit, still gasping, and he smiles at me, love plastered against his face. We kiss softly, with underlying tones of passion pushing up. "Love you."

"Love you too. C'mon, let's get work done now."

A few months later:

Rachel's POV

"Yes, yes, I understand. I'm a FBI agent, I understand what happened. I have had a previous encounter with her, along with some personal things to discuss. Now let me in," the familiar voice demanded. Emily Prentiss pushed her way into my hospital room and stops still. I look like shit. "Hey, do you remember me?"

"Yeah, why are you here?"

"I heard about what happened. I came down to make sure nothing happens ever again," she said, anger flying through her eyes. It's been a year. Foster care is a bitch. Suicide is bliss. Unless you manage to fuck it up like me.

"There's not a ton you can do," I bleakly manage. Emily's eyes wander down the length of my arms where two prominent lines outdo the many others. She closes her eyes briefly, and when they open again I see grief and hurt and pain. It strikes me that I don't like making this woman upset. I barely know her, yet she seems to care for me, even after a year.

"You're coming to DC with me. Don't object. It won't do any good," she says, looking me straight in the eyes. The vibe off her tells me she isn't bullshitting me and I nod. I don't know what to think. I'm happy someone has decided to take me in that legitimately gives a shit, but do I want to fuck with this kind person's life?

"When?"

"Tomorrow. You'll be released in the morning. I hope you're okay with this," she says softly, moving to sit beside me. Her eyes search mine and find no guarded objections. I don't want to ruin her life with my bullshit, but I want out.

"Alright. Everything I own is in that bag already," I say, nodding towards the book bag in the corner. My laptop, my phone, my clothes, my books and my valuables are all able to fit into it. My skateboard sits beside it. It's sad how little I possess.

"Hey," Emily says, noticing my bitter attitude, "You're going to be okay. Maybe not now, but eventually. I promise. Just let me take care of it right now," she tells me, leaning into my space. I get the sense she understands how hard it is to let anyone help me.

"Okay, just get me out of this fucking hospital," I say dryly. Emily's smile blossoms across her face, lighting up the room and me.