Emma's eye is on fire and the scrapes on her arm sting with a promise of infection if she doesn't get them cleaned up soon. Her resolve shook today in a way it never should have, in a way it hadn't since she was thirteen in that home in Chicago and she wanted nothing more than to escape to some fairytale world where a prince would rescue her from a tower and they would live happily ever after. That became a dead dream a long time ago.

She can barely see a damn thing without her glasses as she follows the young cop out of her temporary bedroom.

Temporary, everything is temporary.

"Detective Nolan," Killian addresses his mentor with the utmost respect, even bowing his head a bit as the man turns to look at them. Emma keeps her head fixed in the direction of Detective Nolan, avoiding her foster parents in the corner of the foyer. She can feel Marco's anger as it seeps through his pores and slitters its way up her spine. "Her name's Emma," Killian offers up from his spot behind David. Emma shoots him an irritated look, tired of people speaking for her.

The detective takes one look at Emma and heads toward Marco. After that, everything is a cacophony of sound that frays Emma's nerves completely. She has to press her hands to her stomach to keep them from visibly shaking.

"Marco Boothe, you are under arrest."

"What? For what? I am a good man, I am an honest man."

"Father," August's voice sounds from behind Emma, the only bit of comfort she can grasp onto in this situation.

"Son," he seethes back.

"For the battery of a minor. Do you know your rights?"

A sobbed "Marco."

An angry protest, starting in English and ending in Italian.

An English accent telling her she needed to come down to the precinct to give her official statement.

August's familiar timbre telling her this wasn't right, this isn't how it should happen.

Her own thoughts, screaming in reminder that she only had four months left in the system and then she'd finally be free.

/~*~/

Emma holds an ice pack to her steadily swelling eye as her hands tingle the way they always do when she gets worked up. She feels almost electric, like she could hold her hands out and take down anything that gets in her path.

If only that were true.

The room she's in is ridiculous. The walls are shades of purple and lavender, and there are star shaped sconces that create soft circles of illumination that light the space. There are shelves of stuffed animals, a corner with beanbag chairs and books, and an art easel on the other side of the room. Emma is sitting on an uncomfortable blue plastic chair that is too small for her long legs. Her hair has since been taken out of its ponytail. It falls over her shoulder as her elbow rests on the equally tiny plastic table while she holds the ice pack against her injury. Someone had already cleaned and collected whatever they needed from the scrapes on her arms. She was littered with bruises and bandaids, a mosaic of physical ailments that she couldn't keep the world from noticing.

The door opens and two blurry figures step in. She squints her good eye and makes out the faces of Detective Nolan and Officer Killian Jones. They sit in two chairs across from her and look even more ridiculously out of place than she does. She glances between the two of them, trying not to notice how intense the one named Killian's gaze is.

"Hi, Emma," the detective says first. "My name is David. We came to ask you a couple of questions, is that all right?"

"I'm not a child, you don't have to treat me like one," she retorts, sitting up straighter in her chair and letting the hand holding the ice pack fall into her lap. "Starting with this room. What is this place?"

"Ah, well we use it to talk to children, it's a bit less intimidating than some of the other rooms here."

"A bit?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "And I'm not a child."

"We know, but you've been through a lot tonight and it's a lot more comfortable in here anyway."

"Sure, comfortable." The two men glance at each other and Killian leans forward in his chair, elbows resting on top of his knees.

"Emma," he starts, his voice like liquid honey as it lilts through the space between them, "Can you start by telling us how long you've been with the Boothe family?"

"I'm pretty sure I told you this already when we were back at the house."

"Yes, well, I seem to have forgotten," he says with a half smile that makes her stomach swoop. She narrows her eyes at him.

"Not great practice for a cop, don't you think?"

He sits back in his seat, dropping the coy act as understanding flashes in his eyes that this won't be as easy as he may have hoped.

David glances at Killian before turning back to her. "Can you answer the question for me, Emma? How long have you been with the Boothe family?"

"Three months."

"Has this happened before?"

She glances down at her hands, places the icepack on the table, drops her hands back into her lap.

"Yes."

"How often?"

"Only when he drinks."

"How often does he drink?"

Emma stares at the detective in front of her, her gaze unwavering. Detective Nolan seemed like an honest man, like he was really on her side. She liked to believe she was a good judge of character, and she was always good at being able to tell when someone was lying to her. She had been around her more than fair share of dishonest, untrustworthy people always fishing for information to get them ahead, cops included. But David seemed…different. He sat across from her and almost mimicked royalty, the sure way he held his head and the reassuring air he carried with him from the minute he entered the room. She should just tell the truth right now, tell him everything about what happened and what had been happening but she couldn't.

Emma didn't realize she had been holding her breath. She lets out a heavy sigh and replies.

"Every night."

Again, the men glance at each other and for some reason it irritates her.

"What?" she snaps.

"Every night since you got there?"

She frowns and pushes out of the chair, the icepack falling to the floor. She walks over to a wall that has tons of hand drawn pictures, all childish in nature. Without her glasses, it's all just a blur of color. Her fingertips reach up to gauge how much her eye has swelled. She can't see without her glasses normally, let alone with an eye that's swollen shut.

"August tells me it's gotten worse." She turns around to face them again. "He tells me that this happened once before when his family took in another kid a couple of years ago. I guess I'm the common factor if that's the case."

"What else has August told you?"

"You'll have to ask him." She can tell David doesn't like that answer by the way his jaw clenches.

"What exactly happened tonight, Emma?" he asks her. She remembers what she spoke about with August just before Killian came into the room. She doesn't want to be here. She doesn't like the way they are looking at her, like she is some sort of wounded animal. Something in her starts to snap, she can feel her temper starting to flare.

"Look, I'm not some helpless, distressed child. I tolerated being put in this room, I tolerated your attempt at jokes," she gestures toward Killian, "but I'm sure as hell not going to be able to keep talking to you if you don't drop the concerned parent act. Ask me what you want to ask me."

David doesn't hesitate. "How did you get that black eye? How did you get those scrapes on your arms? What happened, Emma?"

Emma doesn't hesitate, either. She's known what she was going to say since she made her decision earlier in the night. "Marco had been drinking. Something must have made him angry, because when I walked into the kitchen, he lunged at me. I tried to duck out of his way but that just lined his fist up with my face. He knocked me to the ground, but I'm pretty good with self defense, and all he managed to do after that was scratch at me before I managed to escape."

"He just came at you unprovoked?" David asks.

Emma presses her lips together, steeling herself for what she's about to say. "He does't like me very much. I probably should get out of there so their lives can go back to normal."

"He doesn't like you very much? That's pretty extreme behavior, Emma."

"Get out of there," Killian repeats slowly.

David leans back in his seat, hands folded across his stomach. "Killian told me that you looked like you were planning on getting out of there on your own. Is that true?"

Emma recalls the way she had tried to run away. She hadn't tried to run from the Boothes yet, mostly because of August. She enjoyed his friendship and his company, she enjoyed the way he made her feel like she wasn't completely alone. He hadn't tried to badger her or boss her around the way other kids in her past foster families had done. He'd bring her dinner and ask her opinion on what he was writing, offer to help her with her homework, or be the voice of reason when her temper was getting the best of her. They became fast friends. He never pushed her and they had an unspoken understanding. August and Emma kept each other safe.

"Yes, I tried to run."

"Why?" Killian pushes.

"Wouldn't you?" she retorts.

"Why didn't you run sooner? You said this happened quite often."

"I had reasons to stay."

"But you've run away before, Emma," David cuts in, glancing at her case file that had been sitting on the small plastic table. He leans forward, grabs the manilla folder, and thumbs through its contents. "Maine, Oregon, Connecticut, New York," he glances up at her. "Shall I keep going?"

"What are you accusing me of?" she snaps. "I'm the victim in this situation."

"Yes, you are," David soothes. "But we're just trying to get the facts, Emma. You're not giving us much to work with."

"I told you what happened," she says between clenched teeth. "Marco does not like me. I am not welcomed there. Move me to a different home."

"You do realize what that means, Emma. You only have," David glances at her file again, "four months left until you're eighteen. We can contact your case worker and figure something out, especially if you don't feel safe there and –"

"Yes, contact my case worker," she interrupts. "Move me, it's my fault. The Boothes will be better off once I'm out of there." For a moment it's quiet. Neither of the two men say anything to her, and she lets her words sink it.

"Thanks for your time, Emma," David says as the two of them stand up, gesturing at her to follow them. She gives a curt nod and follows them back towards the door. On her way over she steps on something that causes her to loose her footing, and it isn't until she feels the world tilt beneath her that she remembers the discarded ice pack. A strangled sound leaves her lips as she braces herself for impact, but her breath catches when she feels a strong grip on her upper arms.

Killian stands in front of her, his hold on her lessening as she gets two feet back on the ground. Her heart is beating an erratic rhythm in her chest as her eyes find his. This close, the details of his face aren't as blurry. It's distance she has a problem with, but up close she can see the navy flecks in his lapis eyes. She can see the shadow of day two stubble that covers his jaw and has to fight the urge in her fingertips to reach up and push a loose strand of dark hair off his forehead. She has to stop herself from letting her gaze travel to his mouth and clears her throat.

She takes a step away from him, grateful she didn't hit the floor, peeved by the flush she feels on her cheeks. She'd just been through hell and she didn't need her body reacting this way.

"Thanks," she ventures. He gestures for her to walk in front of him with a nod and a sweeping motion with his arm.

"In case your impaired vision gets in your way again," he quips.

On her way out of the precinct and back to the waiting room she keeps her focus on David's back. But that doesn't stop her from feeling his presence behind her the entire time.