"If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?"

William Shakespeare

11.53

Abby watched the team head through the glass do0rs, their backs turned towards her, leaving her behind. It felt strange, to be left behind. As she cocked her head to the side, she tried to put a finger on the anomalous turmoil of feelings that raged inside her body. Her index-finger and thumb slowly tapped against each other, following an unknown rhythm. The yearning for a cigarette quickly built itself inside her mind and she turned around.

The room was almost cold. Lust, drive and eagerness no longer filled this room and the lack of these feelings made the room almost empty. Contradiction in one room. Three people, once alive, now dead. Their eyes, at the moment, filled with the energy of the living, on the next picture, gruesomely taken from their soul. Their life. Now, they were just empty shells. They represented no one. God and the Devil never made a distinction between the frames, it was all about the souls.

And those souls, wicked or saint, could soon rest in peace. And then, there would be nothing left, no reason for Abby and the team to stick around. It was one of the things she loved about the job. She came for a problem. She solved the problem. Problem gone, Abby gone. It was simple and she loved it. She was never the one for emotional bonding.

There was only one place that she loved dearly; Atlanta. Atlanta was her home. It's where she grew up, become a woman, fought her first fights, her blood spilled on the stone pavements, her name still in people's memories. That place was where she had built a name for herself. Became who she was. The heart-clenching feeling of despair no longer suffocated her, she grew numb the more she thought about the place she no longer was. The needles stung less and less, the knives cut less and less deep, the heartache grew more and more silent, the kicks faded more and more, the screams became less and less. Adjusting. It amazed Abby, just like it fascinated her as well as she adored it.

Sighing, Abby moved around the room and her eyes lingered over the photo's, the leads, the clues, the words scribbled down, the train wreck of thoughts. The maze of an investigation. Abby had noticed a certain similarity between herself and the good doctor Reid. She worked almost exactly like him. For her, that meant a lot. His mind was brilliant. Abby had a piece of that brilliance, but somehow, despite her IQ, she was by far not nearly as smart as him. She knew that her excellence, her pre-eminence laid somewhere else. She understood darkness. She knew the twist of the shades and the abstruse truth of shadows. That was her expertise. A lot of that knowledge had been stored in the night train. That was her territory.

She picked up a couple of boxes from the corner of the room and slowly started putting files into them, organising it carefully. There was something about a closed case, or closing a case for that matter. Abby knew the cased wasn't actually closed, as they hadn't caught the guy yet, but it was as good as closed. Abby hit a point of being lost and out of control, as she always did. Once everything was cleaned up and stored, they would head back towards Quantico. From there on, she could focus on something else, something new again. Something that gave her meaning and a purpose.

If she couldn't hunt the bad guys, she was left without a direction.

12.14

The crave for a cigarette took her by her hand and guided her outside. There, she lit a smoke, carefully hissing when she moved her left arm to protect the small flame. Inhaling deeply, she was once again reminded why she smoked. It dampened the pain. It made it fade till the point of no recognition. The smoke escaped her lips and she parted them.

"Your friends, they're going to arrest him, aren't they?"

The voice crashed down on top of Abby's turmoil of thoughts and feelings and startled, she turned her face to meet the person speaking. Elle Tallis stood next to her, the dirty red sweater hugging the width of her waist. Once back at her owned composure, Abby nodded and took a pull from her cigarette.

In a few seconds, she noticed Elle glaring at the cigarette, her nostrils expanding to catch a small glimpse of the tobacco scent. Abby smiled meekly and extended the pack of smokes. The corners of Elle's mouth lifted slightly, but there was no smile in her eyes. She grabbed a cigarette and raised it as if thanking her.

"He's not a bad person, y'know?"

"It's not what you are, it's what you don't become that hurts."

For a split second, Elle looked up at Abby confused, but soon again, her expression returned to its usual dully depressed mien.

"Why did you become a cop?"

"I watched someone close to me get hurt."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago."

"Are you good at what you do?"

This question caused Abby to turn her face and once again, meet Elle's eyes.

"You're profilers. I watched a documentary a long time ago, about profilers. They say you can tell from a person's eyes. Tell everything, find every secret. Just like mind readers."

"We look at a person's behavior. It's not us that can tell. It's your body that's telling it. That's what we see."

"Quentin."

"Sorry?"

"Quentin Morrow. He was the biggest bully. Luke will go after him. He's the final one. There were four."

Before throwing her half-smoked cigarette on the ground, before storming into the police station to grab her coat and a set of keys, before dialing Hotch's number to inform him of the latest discovery, even before calling Garcia for an address, Abby turned towards Elle. Her face was twitched in slight fear and revelation. She placed one hand on her podgy shoulder.

"Thank you Elle."

12.20

"Garcia, it's Frankie. Listen, I just talked to Elle Tallis, she says there were four bullies. Quentin Morrow is the last one. Can you get me an address?"

"Quentin Morrow, looking, looking."

She forgot her coat. Abby grabbed her keys and tossed away the sling. Impatiently, she waited for Garcia to come up with anything, and she glanced through the windows to find Elle Tallis' eyes, worried and anxious.

"Garcia."

"Working on it, working on it. Got him! Ariquentin James Morrow, twenty-six, he lives on Postell Street fourteen."

"Thanks Garcia."

"Wait!"

Abby's finger hovered over the 'end' button and she waited for Garcia to speak. Adrenaline was by now freely running through her body. Her shoulder hurt less, adrenaline took it all away. The drum of her heartbeat she could hear in her ears, the tingling sensation ran through her fingers, her mind at full speed and ready for action.

"He works at the St. Mary's College, Hillsborough Street. He should be there right now."

"Thanks Garcia. Call Hotch, tell 'm I'm on my way!"

"Wait, Abby! You're not supposed to drive with your arm! Abby? Abby? Damn you, woman."

On her way out, she yelled at two officers to follow her tail. Abby put on her sunglasses once stepping outside, the sun burning her eyes, blinding her. She ran towards the black SUV and jumped in the first chance she got. Every second counted, they needed to hurry or Luke Padov would finish what he started; what he craved to do for so long.

Sirens blasted in Abby's ear, overcoming the thumping sound of her heart beating in her ears and chest. Single-handed, she drove through the traffic, hoping that she wouldn't hit someone or something. The bruises on her side, back and shoulder started to wake up and nagged at her consciousness.

The sudden sound of her cell phone pulsed through her body and she tried to relax. She pushed her knee against the steering wheel while she snatched her cell phone, put it to her ear and grabbed the wheel again.

"Scott."

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm on my way to-"

"You're not supposed to be driving."

"Hotch, I'm two blocks away. You better be here or I'll go in alone."

"One minute. You wait."

"Yes sir."

Abby accelerated, pushing down the pedal as the college doomed up when she turned the corner. Hastily, she turned the car around the corner and a few students stepped away once hearing the sirens and seeing the car. As she entered the premises, she wondered how and why Padov would want to take Morrow here. Students were scattered around the area, walking in and out, someone would see what he was doing or going to do. Then again, perhaps that was what he wanted.

The tires screeched to a forced halt and Abby jumped out of the car. Many young people looked at her, the police car that pulled to a halt behind her, her badge, the gun, the sirens, the lights. It must have been quite a scene. The two police officers got out of their car and approached Abby. She noted that both of them immediately covered the butt of their holstered gun with their hands, scanning the area, looking at the students that looked at them and she knew that she was dealing with experienced cops.

"You two. Go inside and ask where Quentin Morrow is. It is utterly important that we find him. Do not spread the word, keep it calm and controlled. We don't want a massive break out."

With two small, curt nods, the policemen hurried inside, ignoring the looks of the seemingly scared and confused students.

Restlessly, Abby waited outside, looking up at the building as if Morrow, or Padov, suddenly might hang out the window, calling out to her. Behind her, she heard sirens and two black SUV's pulled up the driveway, three squad cars directly behind them. Abby walked towards them, her strides long, firm and fast.

"I just send two uniforms inside to check on Quentin Morrow. I told them not to make a scene."

Hotchner only nodded, visibly miffed and somewhat angry. He gave her the long, 'ye be warned' glare before turning towards Chief Miller.

"Chief, two of your uniforms just went inside-."

"I just got off the radio with them, they have a location for Morrow."

"Where?"

"Room three-oh-nine."

"Let's go."

Abby remained standing still and she watched the small group head towards the entrance of the large building. She knew better than to push Hotch's buttons now. She did, however, put the earpiece in her ear to make sure she knew what was going on. If things were going south, she wasn't going to be standing here outside, despite what Hotch might say or do. Suddenly, as if he read her mind, Hotch turned around and his eyes sought Abby's. She stepped forward.

"Get Garcia on the phone. I wanna know where Padov is right now."

"Copy."

While dialling Garcia's number, Abby turned around and noticed how many students had their attention on them. The red and blue lights danced over their faces, trees and the building's walls. Part of the entrance was blocked, two officers stood inside next to the door.

"Yes love?"

"Garcia, we need to know where Padov is."

"Give me a second."

"Work your magic."

A small group of students found the courage to swiftly approach Abby. She quickly pressed the phone against her ear with her shoulder and motioned for them to stay back.

"Okay. His phone is switched off, he was fired just yesterday so he's not at work, no credit card use today."

"Can you turn his phone back on?" Abby asked.

"Do you know who you're talking to? Gimme a sec"

"Right."

There was a short paused before Garcia's gasp filled the speaker of the cell phone. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"Frankie, he's at Sint Mary's College, he's at a school."

"We're already here. Where is he?"

"Main building, eastern wing, second floor. Walking past room two-oh-nine."

"Hotch, you got that? Eastern wing, second floor, walking past two-oh-nine." Abby said into the small radio attached to her vest.

"Copy Scott."

"Garcia, good work." She complimented the tech.

"Are they going to be okay?" Garcia asked worried as she always was.

"Yeah, we're on him."

"Okay. Garcia out."

Abby hung up and sighed deeply. She let her eyes scan the area, looking around. By now, a crowd had formed before the front side of the building and Abby hoped that more cars were on their way for crowd control. She was not in the mood to deal with scared teenagers. Especially not in packs.

Out of nowhere, a chill wind blew past her cheek and the hand brushed against hers. The reminiscent touch was iniquitous, frigid. The breath in her ears harsh and despondent. The rats ran over her back again, sending shivers to run up and down her spine, dancing on her bone, nagging at her skin. A peril threat forced itself against her shields, the hit echoing through her skin, breaking it. The scattered sound of muffled conversations faded, faces became one blur of motion. She was violently aware of the breath that escaped her mouth, the cool air that entered again, his inaudible voice in her head, the words mixed together till one long line of words she didn't understand.

Then, gunshots, a window was broken and several students screamed and started to flee. As if she had been spinning and suddenly put back on the ground, Abby had to regain her balance, re-read her surroundings. A police car arrived and the two officers immediately jumped into action once they saw the federal agent and heard the gunshots. The three of them hurried towards the point of origin.

Abby was the first to turn the corner and immediately turned around again. The two cops saw the body and Abby pushed them back.

"Keep those kids away. Now."

Slowly, her hand positioned on her gun, keen on any signal of life, she approached the humble pile of bones, flesh and clothes. Between the green grass, she discerned the small pool of blood that started to form. She used the tip of her shoe to turn the subject on its back, the dead weight quickly turning around. But once she locked her eyes with his, those vehement, furious and raging, she understood he wasn't dead yet. She blinked and as she did, she ran around the corner, her eyes fixed on the spot she saw his black gloved hand seconds before, she turned, her legs adjusting and he loomed up before her, his eyes viciously penetrating and bright, pushing her back hard and fast. It was him.

"Luke Padov? FBI. You're under arrest."

She bent forward and pulled the ski mask over his face, exposing the face of an actually fairly attractive man, a few minor scars decorating the right side, blood accompanied by a few cuts on the other side. Abby looked up while kneeling down and stared right into Hotch's piercing eyes.

"You want me to cuff him?"

The smile across her lips must have set something off inside Hotch's mind. He shook his head with a small smile on his face and he disappeared again.

"I don't think it's really necessary. I mean, don't think you're going anywhere. Not with a leg that looks like that anyway. Recognise me?"

Luke Padov looked at Abby's face, his bright green eyes spitting fire at her. Recognition flashed before his eyes once he got a good look at Abby's face.

"You stupid British bitch."

"Ah! Now, that's not nice, is it?"

"I think blue suits you."

"Ya, about that."

Abby paused and leant forward as she whispered in his ear.

"Listen, mate, do something stupid, and I'm afraid that you won't see colours ever again. So, I suggest you keep that filthy mouth of yours shut, before you know what the meaning is of the proverb 'hell has no fury like a woman scorned'. Ambulance is on its way."

With that, she raised herself back on her feet, sent Padov one last glance and walked away, two paramedics running past her as they approached their patient. Officers were already busy with containing the scene and keeping the crowd away. Abby spotted Morgan and headed in his direction.

"Hey." He smiled gently.

"Hey. What happened?"

"Hotch tried to talk him down, we were too late. Morrow is fine though. A little shaken up."

"So he turns and aims for you?"

Morgan's eyes flash up at her and he smiles.

"You're the alpha male, you stand out in a crowd. Hotch doesn't. Or, you know, perhaps he's gay and thought you were the hottest guy in the room?" Abby explained calmly and simply.

The comment caused both Abby and Morgan to laugh shortly and they continued to look around, trying to find a place in the sudden chaos.

19.37

"Hotch, coffee?"

Hotchner looked up from the pile of papers that lay before him, his eyes glassy and his hair somewhat ruffled. Abby smiled at the scenery before her and entered her boss' office. She held two cups of coffee up in the air when he looked up and placed one on the desk before her.

"Thank you."

Abby nodded, her left arm back in the sling, and she sat down. Slowly sipping on her coffee, Abby looked outside and ignored Hotch's looks. After a few minutes or so, she turned in the chair and looked at him. He, on his turn, laid down his pen as he finished a part of the work he still had to do. The papers were put into a brown case file and placed on a growing stack of files.

It had become their routine to sit down and talk Abby's actions through. It had been part of Strauss' orders after the fiasco that almost got both her and Morgan blown up by a grenade. The other part was mandatory shrink hours, but Abby honestly admitted she never went. So far, Strauss hadn't pushed after Abby told her to back off. Well, it came down to that, she didn't use to those words in particular.

After three weeks, Hotch and Strauss both agreed that the appointments with the psychiatrist were a bit over the top but that Abby would see Hotch after every case. They saw it as controlled confinement. She saw it as probation. Evaluation.

"You shouldn't have gone to St. Mary's while injured." He said coolly, without giving her the impression to attack her and her actions.

"It was the best idea I had at the moment." She honestly admitted.

Hotch shrugged. "It's okay. You didn't go in yourself, you sent two officers to look for Morrow, even after we all went in, you stayed behind, didn't even ask."

Abby nodded and took another sip of the hot liquid.

"Rossi told me about the interview with Elle Tallis."

"Ya."

"I'd say work on that, but in the end, she came back to you." Her supervisor said to her.

"She was just scared."

"If that what it takes to get them to talk, then so be it."

Her dark-green eyes intertwined with his and she smiled again.

"Go home Scott."

"Yes sir."

Slightly groaning, Abby got up and took a few steps towards the door.

"How's the shoulder?" Hotch asked, a small, nearly invisible smile on his lips.

"It's a little sore, I'm a little stiff, but I'll live."

"You know I've assigned you to desk duty until the doctor cleared you, so you won't fly out with us tomorrow?"

"Ya." Abby halted in the middle of her action to open the door. She turned around, sucking lightly on the inside of her right cheek. "Hotch. Go home."

So far, Abby had only managed to make Hotch smile half-ly. One side of his mouth would go up, whilst the rest of the team, and mostly Reid, managed to lift both sides. It had become a sport for Abby to get this man to smile, genuinely smile. So far, and seeing his half-smile now, she thought she was doing a pretty good job.

She descended the stairs and spotted Reid waiting for her. She sighed as she knew she had lost the argument that she could drive home herself. The young genius smiled and the older woman playfully smacked the back of his head before heading towards the exit.

21.20

"You sure you're okay?"

Morgan had appeared in her doorstep fifteen minutes ago, his expression worried and slightly surprised as always when he looked at the young agent. He claimed to only step by to see how she was, but accepted her invitation to come in when she asked him to. His eyes had gone through her apartment quickly, scanning, observing, profiling, as they always did. Derek had responded to her snicker and couldn't help by smile either when she pointed out to him what he was doing. His remark? 'Nice place you got.'

They were sitting at the kitchen island, two empty mugs before them, the steam that vaporized in the air had been traded for the ice-y cold of a beer. Abby had moved the ice pack she had placed on her shoulder and only winched for a split second.

"Morgan, I swear to God, ask that question one more time and I'll shoot you. I'm fine, okay? I'm not made out of glass."

Morgan raised his hands shortly but smiled when he did it. He took another pull from his beer bottle and put it down on the counter. Abby glared at him and met his eyes.

"What?"

"You want a second opinion?" He asked playfully.

"Oh, you're a doctor now? Besides, you'll probably tell me I'll have to live in a bubble for the rest of my life." She replied, referring to a movie of John Travolta.

"Have a little faith here Abs."

"Fine."

She wasn't sure when the nickname 'Abs' arose, but she had to admit that she kind of liked it. Her friends back in Atlanta always called her Frankie. She was used to that nickname and everybody else was used to using it. Still, it was nice to have someone that thought of a new nickname, after all, she wasn't with her friends in Atlanta anymore. This was different now.

Abby turned on her bar stool and Morgan carefully slid the vest she was wearing back, exposing white tank top and her sore shoulder. His touch was cool and gentle as his fingers brushed carefully against the black, blue and yellow dotted skin, whistling shortly.

"Told you. It's a piece of art." Abby couldn't help it. When his fingers traced the pale skin, she shivered slightly. The compelling attraction she felt for the man made her want to go crazy.

"How does it feel?"

"Promise me you won't turn me into John Travolta?"

Morgan snorted and brushed some hair aside, allowing him a better look at the damaged shoulder. Abby needed to lighten the mood, change the atmosphere that hung between them. She could feel her heart beating rapidly inside her chest and she had to focus to keep her breathing calm and regular. Remain composed.

"Promise."

"It burns. I can feel it swell up like a balloon. It's as if someone tied my torso to a wooden plank." She said.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Abby partially turned her head as she spoke, her brows knitted together in confusion.

"I should have had your back."

"He came from up front. You had my back."

The handsome man snorted again. And then it happened. Her heart skipped a beat as she felt his breath on the bruised skin, the touch of his fingers on her upper arm burnt into her skin, she held her breath for a couple of seconds. She was on fire.

Morgan had leant forward and placed a gentle, kind kiss on her shoulder. Slowly, he rubbed her right upper arm and she heard the stool squeak under re-positioned weight. The air sparkled with mutual attraction, the heat was almost unbearable and Abby felt herself slip into that madness she tried to keep herself far away from. She knew it was stupid, she knew they shouldn't, but God forbid, she couldn't help it. This fire between them was impossible to deny.

And there is was. Undeniable. Uncontainable. Unstoppable. They both had seen it coming. It was like knowing you were heading for the cliff, and still you accelerated, wanted to go faster, deeper.

They collided.

"I should go."

"That's probably a good idea."

"You take care of yourself."

"Always."

Abby took a large, long pull from her beer as she watched the Chicago born agent put on his coat and disappear behind the fake oak door. She sighed, looking down the hand he had squeezed before leaving. She had, like him, read the signs, she had heard them and felt them, smelled them and sensed them. But despite the warnings, she didn't stop. They didn't stop.

So, here she was. The ice pack on the counter lay forgotten, melting and underneath it a small puddle of water begun to form. The moisture on Abby's beer bottle held strange figures, small drops slowly sliding down. Bird lay in the corner, sleeping. She glanced at the clock, 22.00.

Abby lit a cigarette, played with the smoke when inhaling and exhaling. Her phone rang. She didn't pick up. She knew who it was. And she wasn't in the mood.

"Remorse is the pain of sin."

Theodore Parker