Minor chord-a series of three notes, sounded simultaneously to create harmony, where the second note from the root creates a minor third while the third note forms a perfect fifth with the root to create a dark, melancholy mood.

I know it's a bad case when the first thing Dad does, seeing me for the first time, is hug me tight and hold on for a while.

He had been gone for over a week this time, missing one of Mom's fundraisers which meant I had had to go along and hide in her office since she also wouldn't leave me alone for that long.

Dad showed up in the middle of rehearsal, right in the middle of Tallulah's song with the other show girls. I lost about two measure's worth of playing, just staring at him. I had never seen him look so beaten down in my entire life. It scared me.

Lizzie, the other flutist in the pit band sitting next to me, moved her tapping foot over my toe; I resumed playing just as Mr. Hoover glanced over at me. I couldn't let Dad distract me and unfortunately, I had enough practice at blocking him out.

By the end of rehearsal, Dad hadn't moved at all and the other kids were starting to notice. Only a handful even recognized him as my dad which really says how often and how consistently Dad shows up for things. Very slowly, I put my music in order and dismantled my flute, putting the pieces back in the case at my feet. My back pack and coat were in a pile with the other pit band members' things. Finally, once I felt like I could handle whatever had happened, I walked over to Dad.

His arms reached around me, back pack and all, and he squeezed like I would disappear at any second. His clothes were wrinkled and smelled faintly of smoke and sweat. He must have just come back and hadn't even gotten clean yet. I couldn't imagine how tired he had to be, leaning slightly against me even though I was so much smaller.

I hugged him back. I don't always, but something really awful must have happened. If it had been about Mom, he would have pulled me out of rehearsal, so it had to be related to his case. I know he faces the worst of the worst crimes and criminals; to put him into shock like this is terrifying.

Somehow, Dad drove us home, silent and tense, so I didn't say a word. I just followed him out of the car and into the house with none of my usual games or tricks. Once inside, I dropped my bag and coat on the floor rather than take the time to put them in their proper places—I had other concerns. Dad was just standing in the front hall with no sign whatsoever that he knew where he was anymore or what he was doing.

After bad cases, Dad hovers and watches me like a hawk until I want to scream at him. Whatever this was, it was worse because he was completely shut down, like he couldn't process what happened or what he's seen or done while it was so recent.

It used to be, before Mom and I moved so close, that I wouldn't even know about these differences. Mom would just tell me that Dad wasn't coming that weekend or holiday and that was that. Once I started seeing him more often, I learned about the aftermath of his cases. No matter how angry I am at him, when he's like this especially, I shove it all away until he's better and by then I've calmed down and we go back to normal. Well, normal for us.

It was too easy to lead Dad to couch and sit down, I just pushed and he moved. When he was settled, his face still blank of anything, I sat down next to him, wrapping my arm around his stomach and resting my head on his shoulder with my feet tucked up underneath me. Dad didn't react for a really long time, but eventually, he brought his arm around mine and the other around my shoulders. Neither of us had said a single word yet.

I don't know how long we sat there, but it was getting dark already when Mom walked through the door from the garage. She had to know Dad was here since he was still parked outside, so she wasn't surprised to see us. She did look surprised that we were sitting together in the room without any lights on.

"Jason? Rachel?"

Dad finally reacted and looked over his shoulder at Mom. I looked, too, but after a cursory glance to determine that I wasn't the one with problems, she focused on Dad. She stared for a long time and then whatever she saw in Dad's face made her nod her head slowly. I guess it's that thing when couples don't even need to talk to each other but they still communicate.

Mom came over and helped me stand up. Dad's eyes were closed now and his shoulders were beginning to shake. His arms slipped off me easily.

"Rachel, go downstairs and get cleaned up," Mom told me, giving me a gentle push toward the stairs. "I'll take care of Dad and we'll order Chinese tonight, okay?"

"Sure," I agreed, but Mom was already next to Dad, taking his face in her hands. I looked away before I could see if Dad was crying. Dads aren't supposed to cry.

We live in a ranch house with a finished basement. The main floor is the living room, kitchen, sun room, master bedroom and bathroom and the spare room which Mom uses as an office. It used to be my room, but I convinced Mom to let me move downstairs over the summer. My domain has the family room, laundry room, my room and a small bathroom. There are windows toward the ceiling so I get plenty of natural light.

Hannah came out of my bedroom as she heard me on the stairs. Her litter box and food dishes are down here so she doesn't have to go upstairs when other people are over. I grabbed her and held her close to my chest and buried my face into her fur. The cat purred contentedly and rubbed her face against my neck. It wasn't until Hannah meowed at me that I let her go.

My bathroom just has a standing shower where the master bath has the huge tub. It wasn't until I was about to turn the water on I realized that the scent of smoke had transferred over to me from Dad. I scrubbed quickly and washed my hair, trying not to think about it.

A change of sweatpants and a tee shirt later and I sat on my bed, wondering what to do. Would Mom and Dad want to be left alone, or could I go upstairs and see about dinner? I ended up staying downstairs and tried to finish my homework. It was too quiet and I was too unsettled for my usual classical music, so I hooked my iPod into the speakers in my room and cued up Chicago.

One of the factors that helped convince Mom about my room change is that the basement was soundproofed as part of the refurbishing. As long as I wasn't vibrating the floorboards above me, I could practice and listen to music to my heart's content.

French grammar and Shakespeare distracted me until Mom came in. She walked over and pressed the pause button right in the middle of the Cell Block Tango and sat across from me on my bed.

"Where's Dad?" I asked. I felt sometimes that I would spend the rest of my life asking that question.

"He's lying down," she answered. "I ordered some Mongolian beef for you, okay?"

I nodded. Whatever had happened with Dad, Mom was looking really sad and tense.

"Did he say what had happened?" I asked, wondering if I would actually get the truth.

Mom sighed and reached out to take my hand. "Six people died yesterday, sweetie. They were agents on the case with your dad and he tried to save one but it didn't work."

I felt cold. "Was it—was it Reid?"

"No," Mom assured me. "It wasn't. But Dad's having a really hard time with this."

I nodded again. "Will he be okay?"

"Not for awhile, sweetie. Dad's going to be here for a few days, I don't want him alone at his apartment. Okay?"

"Sure," I shrugged.

"Okay then. I'll come and get you when the food gets here."

Mom hit the play button for me on the way out. I set A Midsummer Night's Dream aside since I couldn't concentrate anymore. I had never heard of other agents dying or being hurt on cases before. Dad never really talked about victims that died either, like he was afraid to scar me for life or something.

But just thinking about six people who were dead just stopped me in my tracks. I got up and turned the music off. Suddenly, listening to women singing about murder wasn't so entertaining. In the silence, I kept thinking in twisted circles. Dad had to have been right there when those agents died to try to save one. Maybe Reid had been there, too. Was he hurt at all? If they had been right there, how close had Dad been to dying himself? I could have lost my dad.

Mom let me eat in my room which told me how bad it really was. She said that Dad was still resting, but I figured that he was pretty messed up if she didn't want me to see it. I spent the rest of the night trying to finish my homework and barely managing it. Eventually, I went to sleep, cuddling with Hannah and wondering what I would find in the morning.

When I woke up, I remembered everything. I got dressed and went upstairs for breakfast. Mom was at the island counter, leaning against it and holding a cup of coffee. She wasn't dressed for work but was wearing jeans and a green sweater.

"Mom?"

"Good morning, Rachel. Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah. What about Dad? And why aren't you dressed for work?"

"I'm going to stay home with Dad today. Can you take the bus to school? I'll call Alicia's mom to drive you home after play practice."

"Okay."

I made my own breakfast of toast, yogurt and apple juice, but I didn't see Dad before I left. Alicia asked what was wrong with me during the day and a few other kids asked if that had been my dad the day before. I ignored them all for the most part. I got through classes and rehearsal okay, but I practically raced from Mrs. Burke's car to the house at the end of the day.

Whatever was going on, I knew I had to be there to help.

Notes: This chapter is the main reason that I felt I had to start writing Rachel's story before the show officially begins. Boston is a pivotal moment for Gideon, and therefore, it would critical for Rachel as well. There's another pre-series chapter and then we start with the first seasons' episodes. Thanks for reading and I'll try to have the next chapter up either this Sunday or Thursday.