A/N: Long part ahead and a few answers.
"Hotch?" JJ poked her head into the conference room where her boss was talking to Gibbs and Rossi. All three men turned to look at the petite blonde hesitating by the doorway.
"What is it, JJ?" Hotch asked.
"The press are asking for a statement," JJ informed him. "Anything specific you want me to give them?"
"Yeah, tell them no comment," Gibbs grunted, as if the answer was obvious. He turned back towards a file he had in his hand.
The BAU team leader frowned at the taciturn man. The more time Hotch spent with Agent Gibbs, the less he liked the man. He hadn't liked the high handed advice the NCIS agent had given him several months back about how to conduct his relationship with Emily. That was frankly none of his business. Gibbs also had no authority to be giving instructions to Hotch's agents. "We don't operate like that," Hotch informed him in a tight voice. He nodded at JJ. "Agent Jareau is our media liaison and she'll handle the press."
"Media…liaison?" Gibbs stared at them, a look of disbelief on his face and skepticism lacing the tone of his voice. "That an actual job?"
JJ bristled at this as Hotch sent the man a look of irritation. "The BAU and Bureau believe in maintaining relationships with the press which has sometimes proven useful on cases. It also allows us to control the message," he explained.
Gibbs snorted out a laugh. "There's nothing 'controllable' when dealing with those vultures."
"I think you'll find me to be very good at my job," JJ snapped sharply. Hotch sent her a warning look and she subsided into a glowering silence.
Gibbs merely grunted. "Better you than me." He waved his hand dismissively. "Go. Talk to them. Keep them out of my way." He turned around again, leaving JJ scowling at Gibbs' back. Hotch gave her a sympathetic look this time and with a loud, "humph!" JJ flounced out of the room, slamming the door after her.
"Agent Gibbs, who I have on my team and why they are here is my business and it is completely inappropriate for you to say otherwise," Hotch said in a firm, quiet voice.
"What?" Gibbs looked up from the autopsy report Ducky had given them, the incident with the blonde immediately forgotten. "What? You mean the media…person?" He shrugged. "If that's what the FBI wants to use their money on that's your business." He had far more important things to worry about than how the FBI decided to waste their money.
"Exactly. Agent Jareau is a valued member of my team and her contributions are extremely important."
Gibbs grunted. "If you say so." He went back to examining the file. "Me, I think it's more important to investigate rather than liaise with the press."
"Look at it this way, she keeps the reporters off your back," Rossi said in a reasonable voice, trying to diffuse the situation.
"That's what my director is for," Gibbs replied.
"Insufferable jackass," JJ snarled as she stalked her way back to the small cluster of desks that Gibbs and his team were assigned. She slammed her hand down on Tony's desk.
Ziva and McGee, who were gathered around his computer, looked up curiously. They exchanged glances.
"Is everything okay, Agent Jareau?" Tim asked tentatively.
"How can you stand working for that man?" JJ snapped as she started to pace back and forth. "Okay, maybe I'm not out in the field as much as everyone else, but I am by no means useless. What I do is important!"
The two NCIS agents exchanged knowing looks. They knew the blonde dealt primarily with the press for the BAU team and given Gibbs' low opinion of reporters or the need to even have anything to do with them during an investigation, he would see Agent Jareau's role as superfluous. And he likely said as much to her face.
"Agent Gibbs is not a fan of the media," Ziva began. "And he can be quite…blunt when expressing his opinions. But he is a great agent."
"Ah, talking about me again, Ziva?" Tony said as he strolled in from the elevators, an exhausted and annoyed Morgan trailing in his wake.
"You wish," Ziva snorted.
"Any luck with the photographer?" JJ asked Morgan before DiNozzo could respond.
"The photographer for the past thirty years who has been going to Miss Ellington's Academy for Young Girls has been none other than Mrs. Louise Tremaine, a now sixty year old woman who has been the only photographer for the Academy," Morgan replied in a disgusted voice. He flopped down into Gibbs' chair.
The NCIS agents stared anxiously at Morgan. He realized what they were doing and frowned at them. "What?" he demanded when they remained silent.
"Uh, that's Gibbs' desk," Tim finally said.
Morgan shrugged. "I'm just sitting here." After an afternoon with the gregarious Tony DiNozzo, Morgan wasn't feeling kindly towards anything remotely related to NCIS.
"El Hefe doesn't like people sitting at his desk. It's a territory thing," DiNozzo explained.
Morgan sighed and hauled himself to his feet. He walked over to Ziva's desk and looked at the former Mossad agent who nodded her permission. She may have thought the BAU agent a handsome, arrogant jerk, but she felt pity for him. He had spent the day with Tony.
"So we have nothing from the Academy?" JJ asked.
"I wouldn't say that," Tony said slowly as he glanced over at Morgan.
The BAU agent nodded. "That's got to be the connection. It's the only link we've found among the three victims and it's too much of a coincidence."
"I've been running background searches on all employees and contractors, past and present at the Academy and so far have come up with nothing," McGee reported.
"Well, they've been in existence for decades," JJ noted. "There has to be quite a few of them."
"Actually, there aren't as many as you would think," Tim replied. "Most of their employees remained with the Academy for long periods of time, many of them retiring while there."
"And most have been female," Ziva added.
"What about substitutes? Relations to employees who may have had contact with the girls?" Morgan asked as he stood up and walked over to McGee's desk.
The young NCIS agent shook his head. "Nothing so far. But there's still a lot more to go through."
"And Garcia is working on a special project for Hotch so she can't help out," Morgan sighed.
"What project?" JJ asked. The other man explained about the theory that perhaps there were earlier victims who survived the Unsub's attack and didn't report the sexual assault to the police.
"Garcia is checking hospital records, talking with counselors to see if they recall anything," Morgan explained. He shook his head. "But with the privacy laws, I don't know if she's going to get very far."
"Then I would suggest that all of us take a list of staff names and get started," Ziva interjected as she handed sheets of paper to Tony, Morgan and JJ.
Both Morgan and Tony looked with dismay at the tedious research work that lay ahead of them that night. JJ said she would be back to help them after she had dealt with the press. She started to move away when something occurred to her.
"Where's Agent Prentiss?" the blonde asked.
Though Ziva didn't know exactly where Emily was, she knew the last thing the brunette FBI agent needed was questioning by her curious co-workers.
"I believe she is working on a lead with Abby," Ziva lied.
JJ gave the other woman a measured look. She had been with Abby a few minutes earlier before she had to take a call regarding the media pressure for a statement. Emily had not been with them. Of course, JJ could have missed her when she left to take her call, but somehow she didn't think that had happened.
However, the blonde simply nodded, the more pressing matter of the media needing to be placated forcing her to deal with that first.
Ziva eyed Jareau heading towards the elevators that would take her towards the lobby where members of the press were gathered. She turned to see Tim staring at her.
"What was that all about?" he asked her in a low tone. "Abby and Reid are the only ones in the lab. We just heard from them before everyone else walked in."
"Emily is working on something," Ziva replied. She paused. "I'm just not certain what it is or where she's at."
Emily was seated next to Ducky's desk as the elderly man bustled around her prattling about the wonderful taste of the recent tea blend he found in a small store located in Georgetown. She felt relieved to be away from the probing eyes of Gibbs and Rossi and if she had stayed any longer, she knew that Hotch would have realized something had happened and would have demanded answers from her. She looked around the sterile environment of the morgue and felt strangely relieved and comforted by the stark surroundings. For a place that housed such gruesome activities, it was oddly comforting and felt like a haven from the chaos of the outside world. As she turned to look at Ducky, she realized it wasn't the surroundings that were offering her comfort, but the gentle man who smiled so benignly at her, fussed over her in genuine concerned and hastened to make her a cup of tea.
"I believe with a generous amount of honey, you'll find it will help with your cold," Ducky informed her as he steeped the tea leaves. "I'm afraid I don't have any biscuits to offer you, my dear."
Emily gave him a small smile, relishing his solicitude. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had made a fuss over her the way Ducky had. "I'm not particularly hungry." She sneezed violently. Dr. Mallard gallantly offered her his handkerchief. "What do they say, 'Feed a cold, starve a fever'?"
"Do you have a fever?" Ducky asked in a concerned tone. Without waiting for Emily to respond he placed his hand on her forehead and frowned. He rooted through a drawer and pulled out a thermometer which he handed to Emily.
She eyed the long, slender medical instrument in dismay. "Is that a liver probe? I'm not sticking that in my mouth."
"It's a brand new one," Ducky assured her.
"Let's just agree that I have a slight fever," Emily said in a firm tone as she put the thermometer back on the desk. She did take the tea Ducky handed her and took tentative sip. She gave a small smile of appreciation for the liberal use of honey in the hot beverage. The sweetness mingled perfectly with the berry notes and slightly smoky taste of the black blend tea.
For several moments, they enjoyed their tea in silence. Emily took the time to not only warm her cold hands, but to also regain come of her balance and focus. Seeing Riccardo Rapetti again after all these years had shocked her and she had to admit, frightened her to an extent. She was transported back to Rome where she was a shy, fifteen year old girl who had never really seemed to fit in anywhere. Add to that the usual awkwardness and growing pains every teenager faced, she had proven to be the perfect target for a predatory Rapetti.
"Emily?" Ducky called out softly when he saw her drift internally into herself. Gibbs had hurriedly told him about what happened at the Italian embassy and Emily's reaction to Rapetti. He had urged Ducky to talk to her. Not only did they need to know if the Italian was a viable suspect in their investigation, but Gibbs was deeply concerned about Emily. Typically, Ducky wouldn't pry or at least be as aggressive as Gibbs wanted him to be. However, Gibbs' extreme concern had convinced Ducky that something was very wrong and needed to be done. Given the urgency of the investigation and seeing for himself how disturbed Emily appeared to be, any lingering doubts he may have had about prying were pushed aside.
When Emily looked from her tea to meet Ducky's eyes, he gave her a sympathetic, knowing look. "Do you want to tell me what happened today at the Embassy?"
She let out an irritated huff. "Gibbs." She knew at some point the NCIS agent would question her, but she hadn't anticipated the man sending Ducky in to do his dirty work. Quickly she tried to gather the walls of her rapidly deteriorating protective walls and prepared herself to convince Ducky that she was fine.
"He's concerned about you, my dear," Ducky continued, sensing what was going on in Emily's mind. "He knows you well enough that when something disturbs, it has to be very serious." The Medical Examiner frowned. "From his description of the man you met…Rossini?"
"Rapetti." She fairly spat out the name, Ducky noticed.
"Rapetti," Ducky repeated, "He sounds like he is a decidedly unsavory character."
"Unsavory doesn't begin to describe him," she mumbled. She hesitated, reluctant to reveal anything from her past but knew they were in the midst of an investigation and Rapetti was a potential suspect. She tried to figure out a way to say as little as possible about her past with Rapetti, but her mind didn't seem to be working as quickly as it typically did. She didn't know if it was the cold, the shock of seeing Rapetti or simply because she was tired of keeping secrets. Perhaps it was a combination of all three. The best she could do was to say, "I don't think he's our killer."
"Why?" Ducky cocked his head. He knew he was pushing her and Emily could simply shut down on him as she had started to do with Gibbs and her colleagues. But Donald Mallard had a way about him that encouraged others to confide in him with their darkest secrets. Or greatest shame. It may have been his non-threatening demeanor or his sympathetic nature, but what people responded to was his non-judgmental, gentle soul.
Emily Prentiss had many secrets, but this one was her greatest one. It was a burden she had been carrying for years, a burden that seemed to grow exponentially larger with each new horror that seemed to be traced back to what happened with Rapetti. Matthew Benton had been the only one to know, but as he sank deeper into his drug addiction, Emily found herself carrying the burden alone. And while she knew intellectually she couldn't have prevented what happened with Matthew, and had even tried to help him, what initiated his downward spiral seemed to be traced back to her and her trauma. How many more had suffered because she had kept silent all these years? By keeping it to herself, had she allowed three women to be butchered? Was this another crime she failed to stop by trying to forget what happened to her in Rome?
"Emily," Ducky called out in a soft voice. "I just want to be certain of two things, one that you're okay and two that this man is not our killer. I assure you, whatever you reveal to me, I will not tell anyone else."
She hesitated. She had no doubt Ducky would keep his word, but how to begin when it had been buried for so long? It was a wound that had never fully healed, just scabbed over. To talk about it would be like ripping open the wound and bleeding it again. She didn't want to do it, but duty and her own exhaustion from remaining silent for so long overwhelmed her. She was so tired.
"Emily…" Ducky's voice had dropped even lower.
"He's not the one we're looking for," Emily said in a low, monotone voice. Ducky watched with concern as a blank mask of professionalism dropped over her face and she began to talk. It was easier this way, to approach the story and speak of it almost as if it was another case and she was a mere observer. "Riccardo Rapetti preys on teenage girls or very young women who have relatively little relationship experience. It's about the deflowering process, not really about their virginity, though I suspect he gets great enjoyment if they are, but it's about taking away someone's innocence. He gets off on the power he has over them and once he takes what he wants, he discards her. She's now soiled goods in his eyes. A whore. He doesn't kill her. He doesn't get satisfaction from that. He just enjoys the destruction he wrecks and watching the suffering in the aftermath."
"Is that what happened to you, Emily?"
Emily thought of the first time she had met Riccardo Rapetti. It was back in Rome when she was fourteen, just a few months shy of her fifteenth birthday. He had been a low level liaison working with the American Embassy and inevitably, Emily would see him frequently. The girls at the American school where Emily and most of the children of US citizens living in Rome attended, were enamored of Rapetti. With his dark, handsome Italian looks he was dressed in the latest fashion and owned a flashy sports car that he sometimes drove slowly by the school where the American girls would loiter after classes, dressed in their short skirts.
Looking back with the wisdom of her experience and education, Emily knew Rapetti had shown the classic signs of a predator with a taste for young, vulnerable teenage girls. But back then, and especially in Italy, no one considered the inappropriateness of a man in his early twenties flirting with girls as young as 15.
Emily was not one of those girls who wore mini-skirts and tied her button down blouse in a knot so her bare midriff would be exposed. In fact, Emily did almost everything she could to hide her body, preferring dark clothing that was oversized. Though her slender figure was hidden, Emily had not yet entered her brief Goth phase so there was nothing hiding her lovely face from the world, and Rapetti.
Add to it the taboo of pursuing the American Ambassador's daughter, she had been irresistible to an arrogant predator like Rapetti.
Emily was stunned and then quickly dazzled when the older, handsome man that every girl at school, every girl, was after. Already an object of envy for some of the girls because of her lovely looks and the status of being the Ambassador's daughter, that jealousy was quadrupled when Rapetti suddenly became interested in her.
Emily was initially horrified. Already an outcast at school with the other girls, this only increased their animosity towards her. But then she began to enjoy the attention. Rapetti could be very charming, or what a naïve fifteen year old girl would consider charming.
"If you're inexperienced, it's easy to fall for Rapetti's snake charmer act," Emily said in her montone voice. She paused. "Or if you're alone. Rapetti has a knack for ferreting out someone's weaknesses."
Emily's only friends at the time were Matthew and John Cooley. She knew Matthew was worried about her. He had never liked Rapetti and he tried to make sure Emily wasn't left alone with the man, but he couldn't be with them all the time. Matthew had considered saying something to the Ambassador, but he was intimidated by the woman and he knew Emily would be furious if he dragged her mother into the situation. The Prentisses did not have the best relationship. John had been upset with her. He had long had a crush on Emily and felt her sudden relationship with Rapetti was a betrayal. John had dealt with the situation by snubbing Emily and dating Christine Bailey in retaliation.
Emily was annoyed with Matthew's interference and soon it became a game to give him the slip so she could be alone with this worldly man. The fact that the relationship would be frowned upon seemed to make it even more exciting and irresistible to Emily. In her naïve, romantic fifteen year old mind, they were a bit like Romeo and Juliet. Riccardo actually listened to her and for the first time in her life, made her feel pretty and wanted. He complimented her and without fail, always brought her a single flower every day. He acted like a romance novel hero who was intent on wooing the heroine and for the first time in her life, Emily felt she mattered.
So the day he offered her some wine at a picnic he took her on, she blithely downed one glass and unhesitatingly accepted the second one he offered her. Unused to the alcohol, she quickly became intoxicated. She couldn't remember much, just fuzzy recollections. One moment she was sitting on a blanket, having a picnic with Riccardo. Then she remembered looking up into the blue sky and the leaves of the tree they sat under. Riccardo came into her view, looming above her, his weight pressing her down. Everything seemed to be hazy and unreal as though she was watching someone else through a fog. Then she felt searing pain that continued as she felt him thrust himself into her. She remembered crying out in pain and whimpering something, but he held his hand over her mouth to muffle her cries as the pain grew worse. She finally fell silent and shut her eyes as the world began to spin and she just willed it all to end.
When he was done, he ordered her in a sharp tone to stop her "blubbering" and to stop acting like a whore and close her legs. He took her back to the Embassy and Emily had rushed up to her bathroom and threw up, completely sober by this point. She scrubbed her skin raw in the shower as the hot water eventually turned cold. For days she refused to go anywhere or speak to anyone.
Alarmed, Matthew finally found a way into her room. One look at her face, and he seemed to guess what was wrong. Emily had sobbed out her story and her friend, her true friend, had sworn he would kill Rapetti, but the man had suddenly been transferred to an assignment in Venice, out of the teen's reach.
They should have told someone, but what would they say? Who would they tell? Matthew suggested the Ambassador, but Emily knew the scandal would horrify Elizabeth Prentiss and she would lay some, if not all of, the blame on Emily. "But I didn't say no," a traumatized Emily had told her friend. "Would anyone believe me?" No, it was best to say nothing and forget about it.
But two months later, they realized simply forgetting about it was not an option. Emily was late and she realized she was carrying Rapetti's baby, a baby she was neither ready for nor did she want. Matthew was the only one who knew the entire story and he had helped her. Eventually John figured it out and was ready to brand Emily with the "whore" label Rapetti had tossed at her, but Cooley began to see how her behavior had altered and slowly realized something much worse had happened to her. The shock and anger had rendered him immobile and useless. He was still a boy after all and he didn't know what to do so he simply did nothing. He did not stand by her side and support her. It was for this that he had apologized for years later after she had saved him. Emily had been there when he needed her, but he had been unable to return the favor. So it was left to Matthew to be her sole support and confidante until his own demons consumed him, demons she always felt she helped unleash with her stupid mistake in trusting Rapetti.
"I told no one what happened," she said in a low voice. "I never fought back. I never told him to stop. I wasn't even sure what was happening, just that there was pain. I sometimes wonder if I was responsible for any other girl or woman he might have targeted because I never told anyone what happened."
The blank façade cracked then, as she turned teary eyes towards Ducky. The man's heart went out towards her, realizing she had been carrying the weight of shame and guilt for so long.
"Oh my dear," Ducky breathed out as he got out of his seat to place a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You are responsible for nothing that man has done, either to you or anyone else. The guilt and shame is his." Ducky didn't counsel victims. They had fallen silent by the time they came to him, but his compassion and gentleness was an integral part of who he was and it came to fore at this needed time.
"He may not be the monster we are seeking, Emily, but he is the monster. Not you."
"No, I'm just the stupid victim," she noted bitterly and not without a hint of self-recrimination.
"No," Ducky corrected her. "You're the fighter. You're the one who triumphs over that degenerate every single day by living your life and protecting those who need it. You are not a victim, Emily Prentiss, you're a fighter, and I'm damn proud to know you."
They were the kindest words anyone had ever said to her and Emily didn't realize she had been waiting her entire life to hear someone say. She never sought praise. It was not her nature. But everyone needed validation at some point in their life if only to show that someone saw them and cared enough to say something. For so long, Emily's life had been void of it so when she heard it, it was as soothing and precious as water to a woman dying of thirst in the desert.
It was enough to break through her fragile mask and she started to sob. Finally someone, somewhere knew and he didn't blame her. He didn't regard her with contempt or disgust. He simply cared about her. Ducky pulled her into his arms and allowed her cry out her years of pain as he soothed her with soft murmurs and gentle pats. She never knew the gentle man who comforted her had only one thought running through his head:
To make sure Ricarrdo Rapetti was thoroughly punished.