DISCLAIMER: this story is a rewrite of one titled "Believe in Salvation" by bootsontheground. Please check out their story!

The early morning sun harshly struck her eyes, promptly irritating the dull throb that had began to fester in her head. Hungover and disgraced, Emily dragged her feet towards the sleek black SUV parked outside the police station. Had it not been for the tight hand of an officer roughly guiding her towards the vehicle, or the nervous woman shifting foot to foot beside it, Emily may have missed it. May have.

But she knew better than that. Her mother wasn't happy.

"Wow, she really splurged on this one didn't she." It wasn't a question as much of a bitter chuckle as the raven haired teen shrugged herself free from the officer. He merely frowned and turned to the woman.

"Tell Ambassador Prentiss to have a better hold on her daughter. We have people who actually need the cells, and there's only so many times the chief is willing to wipe her record." With that he turned on his heel and walked back inside, leaving them alone.

"How pissed is she this time, huh? What's my punishment? Cut allowance? Grounded for a couple weeks? Banned from my phone?" Emily took the coffee cup that was offered to her and took a sip. It scalded her throat and was far too bitter but she didn't care, it was coffee after all. A little milk and sugar wouldn't have hurt though. She arched a brow as she looked the assistant up and down in wait of a response.

"Your mother requested you go to reform school. You leave as soon as possible - your stuff is in a car at home." Her eyes never met Emily's. That was the usual; all of her mother's assistant hated being on pick-up duty for her. They all regarded her as the spoiled child trying to gain attention by her deviant tendencies. They weren't wrong. Emily found it funny, really, that some of them were intimidated of her. There had been numerous times where assistants had quit in order to avoid her, or because of her playful banter.

"Reform school?" Emily snorted, "You can't be serious? I was thinking by now it would be a military grade place ya know? Teach me some 'real values' or whatever she drones on about half the time." Her relationship with her mother had never been truly golden. An esteemed political identity, Elizabeth Prentiss had often found herself with no time to truly dote over her daughter, resulting in Emily being passed off into the hands of countless nannies or sometimes her father. Even so, the Ambassador's expectations had been ridiculously high with the hope that one day her child would follow in her footsteps. That didn't go to plan. After the divorce with Emily's father, Senator Schuller, Elizabeth had to watch in helplessness as her daughter rebelled even further. No amount of boarding schools, summer camps, or home discipline had squashed that deviant spirit much to her dismay. This was a final leap as Emily inched closer to eighteen.

In the past few years her delinquency had been enough to get arrested. Of course the record was always wiped (having plenty of money and corrupt cops tended to help that) and the punishment would range in severity (sometimes she was shipped off to her father, those were the times Emily hated the most; Schuller was a strict man, worse than her mother, and he was cruel.. he was the only person who managed to break her spirit even a little). And every time she would emerge the next morning to a plain cab and an assistant ready to lecture her on the drive home. It was never one of the lavish embassy cars, her mother would never risk the shame of being seen picking up her criminal daughter.

"Get in, Ambassador Prentiss is waiting." A slight stammer was evident in her tone, only making Emily snicker more. This woman was terrified. Was she really that bad?

"Sorry sorry - Amy is it?" Did Emily know that wasn't her name? Yes. Did she care? No, she enjoyed messing with people.

"Ashley." The assistant couldn't have been more than twenty-five, barely older then herself. She was timid and quiet, average blonde hair and average blue eyes with average height and average weight. She was extraordinarily average in Emily's eyes. This must have been the job of a lifetime for someone like her. Sure, being an assistant wasn't that great, but being the assistant of an Ambassador meant that at least she was paid a pretty penny and taken care of. Sometimes Emily wondered if her mother cared more for her workers than her own daughter, it really wouldn't surprise her.

"Okay, Ashley, thank you ever so much for the coffee, I really do appreciate it." Emily put on a wide, fake grin and even nudged the other woman as she climbed into the car. The journey back was uneventful. All she could really do was stare out the window at the views rolling past. The beauty of Russia had long since washed over her, now it was just the same old towns and the same old people. At least they would move again soon. They always did. She'd gotten used to never calling one place home. Before she knew it she was in the wide space of the lounge, waiting for her mother to turn around from the large arch window.

"Hey-"

"Save it." Elizabeth cut her off sharply, not turning to focus her attention on her daughter, "I've had enough of this, Emily, I'm fed up of dealing with your insolent, attention-seeking behaviour. If you want to behave like a child having a tantrum, I will treat you as such."

"Oh, so shipping children off is the way to deal with them?" was the snarky response, followed by a bitter scoff and a roll of her eyes - of course invisible to her mother. This was the routine. Get arrested, get taken home, get lectured, get punished.

It was Elizabeth's time to scoff.

"You sicken me sometimes, Emily, I would never have treated my mother the way you treat me. Pack your bags. You're Boyd's problem now." At long last she turned and glared at the teenager with a look only akin to pure disdain. Emily's blood turned cold.

"Wait, you're shipping me off to the States? To him? Mom that's not fair, I-"

"Get a move on. A car is coming to collect you shortly." There was no emotion there anymore. She really had crossed the line. The rejection caused the oh so regular rage to bubble once more in her stomach and Emily gritted her teeth.

"Fine." She stormed out and ignored the sense of hurt that flooded her system. Of course she still didn't like her mother, not in the slightest, but at least that woman was more bearable than her father. Dread pitted her stomach at the thought of facing Senator Schuller.

When the car - this one actually one of the nice ones - pulled away from the grand manor, Emily shut her eyes and let herself melt into the leather.

Her welcome-back to America didn't go as smoothly as one could wish. During the ten hour flight, she'd fallen into a restless sleep as she often did. Her mother had sent yet another person to make sure she didn't stir up too much trouble on the aircraft, and this man had been a little too interested in her. Emily was flirtatious, yes, but only to people she found attractive (you know, as most people do) and sadly for this guy she did not find potent body odor endearing at all. And then, to top it all off, when walking off the plane she happened to stumble and fall - quite literally - into yet another man Elizabeth had sent for her. She didn't mind too much, he had nice arms.

"Welcome back to the States, Miss." said Mr NiceArms, helping her stand with a polite smile, "Your mother requested I escort you to your new school, if the traffic is good we should arrive in time for supper." They had missed the first flight due to the traffic on the way to the airport, and now her arrival was far later than originally planned.

"Gee, I can't wait." Perhaps Emily was grouchy because she hadn't slept well, or perhaps she was grouchy because her mother had quite literally sent her away to another continent to 'get better'. Rude. Either way, sarcasm rolled off her tongue as she was directed to yet another car. She wasn't a fan of travelling and often found herself sick after too long.

"Are you excited for your journey to redemption?" Mr NiceArms asked around five minutes into the journey, breaking her peaceful silence. Emily didn't respond for a little while, not even when she could sense him watching her expectantly. What teenager was happy to move across the world to go to what was probably a God-loving school (not that she had anything against religion) where they would preach all about how she will be forgiven if she admits her wrongdoings? Hopefully they would at least have a lot of little nooks and crannies where she could slip in a cigarette to distract her.

"I hear the school is relatively small in order to work on a more personal level with the students," he continued on, seemingly unfazed by her blatant disregard for his presence (this guy apparently couldn't take a hint, Emily thought), "So if you dislike large groups it should be good. I imagine not many people go there anyway because of the price. You know, your mother-" Emily lost interest after that and his voice merged with the background noise. She watched other cars passing by through the window, almost hoping she could map the way in her mind in order to run away if needed.

Her father would probably get in contact soon. She pressed her forehead to the cool glass. Nausea swirled in her stomach, the familiar acidic burn teasing her throat as her hand flew to her stomach, ready.

"We're here." Phew. She'd never scrambled out of a car so quickly, gulping in the fresh air and washing away the previous threat of vomit. Mr NiceArms was beside her in an instant, her duffel bag over one shoulder and suitcase in hand. He wore that same smile that he'd had from the start and she couldn't help but notice how he resembled a Ken doll.

Behind them stood two ornate gates that looked to require a code or acceptance from the security guard to pass through (that put a stop to her escape plan). In front of them stood what Emily could only call an old style manor house/mansion style building surrounded by the most naturally green grass she had ever seen. Beautifully trimmed hedges lined the grounds and she could spot multiple flowerbeds thriving beautifully, and some trees further off. Hopefully there was more to do inside. Mr NiceArms took the lead and began walking towards the large front doors, her suitcase rolling loudly over the gravel. This would be okay surely, it could be worse. Emily followed after him, something akin to anxiety building within - not that she would ever admit such a thing. She was Emily Prentiss, she didn't fear or care about anything.

"Per - perdonak - perd.." Mr NiceArms (she never bothered to ask his name) was butchering whatever quote he was squinting at. Above the doorway was a sign embellished with a quote in small cursive. Emily instantly recognised it as Italian. She allowed her mother's friend to continue struggling for a few moments before cutting in: it got annoying after a while.

"Perdonaci I nostri peccati, così come dobbiamo anche perdonare coloro che peccano contro di noi." She recited effortlessly, smirking at his confusion, "Forgive us our sins, just as we must also forgive those who sin against us. It's one of the variations of a line from the Lord's Prayer." Great, she was correct about it probably being a God-loving place. Fun.

"Ah of course, you are your mother's daughter I suppose - I'm not surprised she taught you Italian. She speaks it rather well, a wonderful woman Elizabeth is, eh?" For a second an amused smile twitched at his lips, the look in his eyes one of a man lost in memories. "You remind me of her." A slight glance up and down her.

Gross. Was this guy in love with her mother or something? Did he just hit on her? Just to get away from him, Emily hurriedly knocked on the door. She would take Jesus over this an any day, and to think he hadn't seemed too bad just minutes ago. As she waited she tried to imagine the type of person to answer the door; her mind conjured images of a thin, strict woman dressed in a sharply creased shirt tucked neatly into a too-long pencil skirt. Her graying hair would be pulled into a tight bun with no tendril out of place, and her face would be reminiscent of an old crone with beady hawk's eyes and stiff lips pressed in a thin line.

Oh how wrong she was.

There was a distant shout and then the door opened to reveal a man, simply a man, but what took her aback was the warmth that seemed to radiate from him. His hair and goatee were neatly trimmed, and his clothes were clearly smart, yet a fatherly kindness shone in his eyes and his sleeves were messily rolled up. An apron was tightly fastened around him donning the phrase "Who needs a recipe when you're Italian!" and the colors of the country's flag.

"You must be Emily! You're slightly later than we expected, but please come on in, you're just in time for dinner!"

"I'll let your parents know you arrived safely." Emily watched as Mr NiceArms shrugged her bag off his shoulder, surprised when Mr ItalianApron offered to take it from him. Her mother's friend shot her one final grin and then walked away, leaving Emily gazing between his back and the open front door.

She took her first step inside.

A/N: I apologise if the Italian is wrong, I am not Italian nor do I speak (or know anyone who does) Italian so I have to rely on the untrustworthy Google Translate. If you speak Italian please correct me in the comments and I will update!