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"Lewis! Get in here!"

My captain hollered my name, for the umpteenth time, and I had to roll my eyes. I kicked my feet off of my desk, and laid down the ball of elastics that I had been fingering for the last hour and a half. I had been waiting for the ballistics report from the 6th serial massacre shooting of a family in the city of New York where I was residing. The criminal's MO had been to break into each home in the dead of night, and shoot one bullet from a double action revolver, a Bulldog .44 Special. It's not the usual weapon of choice, because it's so big, but because of the limited backlash, I guess it was the best.

I strolled into Captain Stevenson's office, a smug smile etched onto my face, which soon dissolved as I took in the somber and very tense atmosphere the room had taken. Standing in the corner were 3 of the 7 people I would have liked to have never seen again. Now that they were here, I knew shit was real. For some reason, whenever BAU was in the vicinity, things went bad to worse in a blink of an eye. Oy vey.

"Sir, is there anything specific you needed?"

I made a point of not looking over to them, and I could tell Stevenson was noticing. There was a giant, pink, dancing elephant in the room, and I was doing well to ignore it. I didn't want to acknowledge them being here, because it would only cause a cluster fuck of problems for me later on.

A sadistic smile worked up Stevenson's face, and I internally cringed. I knew what was coming, I knew him well enough to know what he-

"You are going to liaise Dr Reid, SSA Agent Hotchner, Rossi and Morgan around as they work on the case."

I froze, and immediately had to reign in the urge to roll my eyes straight into the back of my skull. For Gods sake! He's only doing this to piss me off. I'm the team psycho-analysis technician, not a fucking nanny. I didn't need this right now. I was sure he could tell, as he crossed his arms over his shoulder, and rocked back onto his heels - a clear sign of assured dominance. Fucking idiot.

I huffed under my breath, and nodded, with a streak of defiance in my posture. My vision rolled over to the group of stragglers that I had been assigned to, and, again, nodded my head in a show of good sport, and recognition. I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth; everybody and their mamas knows that BAU always get the most action.

I guess it's like a two sided coin, right? On the one hand, I think their trumped up asshole alpha-males, but on the other, they are always in the field, travelling from place to place, in the heat of the battle, always thinking in the moment. I relished in that feeling, I missed it. I hated being forced into office duty, not being able to do what I was supposed to do. I was a pseudo-cop, nothing more, nothing less.

If I hadn't gone on that fucking case, I would still be out there. Protecting those who needed it, and kicking ass and taking names like a field officer would. But no, 6 months ago, I was shot in the left pectoral, just over 4 millimeters from my heart, and I was called out of action. I had been told, no I was ordered to stay off duty, and honestly, for the first few months, it was awesome.

Everyone was in and out of my hospital room, coddling me like I was some precious jewel or something. I mean, I felt like a princess. It was only when the boredom set in, and the nights became cold and unnerving, that I noticed that something was really, truly wrong. The following day, I had been told by my commanding officer that I was being taken out of the line of duty, and I could literally feel my heart break. I might as well have died in the shooting, because the shame I brought on my father was almost palpable.

He never requested a visited, and whatever letters I sent to him were faxed back, unopened and seemingly untouched. He hated law enforcement. He said it was 'unbecoming of an intelligent and forthright woman.' What utter horseshit. He just didn't like the fact that I was living alone, making my own money and keeping myself afloat. He always wanted me to depend on him, and that drove me up the wall as a child.

I was always the disappointment, even though I was an only kid. The judgmental glare he would send me, every single time I would do something that wasn't quite 'his' way, he would always cut into me. Always insulting and chipping away at my self confidence. I grew up to hate him. I truly did. My mother left when I was only 3 years old, having moved away to live with some guy half her age, and honestly, fucking good for her.

From what I hear, she's fairly happy, she has a family - a son around 19 years old although I had never met him, or even her husband, Rodrigo. I only know about them through detail letters I receive in the mail every year, on my birthday, from my mom. It gives me little satisfaction to know that at least she hadn't completely forgotten about me.

I came from a family of Italians on my mothers side, and Greek on my fathers, so I had a fair bit of culture in my heritage; of which I was thankful. I liked being able to speak different languages, and eating foreign foods all the time, just because I had the knowledge on how to correctly prepare it.

I was fairly tanned, even bordering on a healthy golden-toned glow, which contrasted brightly with my sharp grey eyes, flecked with sapphire blue and gold. My hair was honey toned, and a very light brown, almost like a deep ash-blonde, and fell is very strong, curly ringlets, past my shoulders and fluttering against the middle of my back.

I went through elementary and middle school being the odd, mixed race, social pariah, which I soon became used to. The heckles and abuse that was shouted at me across the playground became nothing but background noise, and I truly stopped caring what others thought of me. It was almost amusing to look back on those times, and all the days I would go home and cry my heart out all because I didn't know why people didn't like me.

I didn't do anything to them, yet they hated me. It was down to my skin colour, of course, but also my intelligence. It frightened people. I knew it did. The glances that were shared between the adults around me always made me slightly uncomfortable, but I liked to put it across that it didn't bother me much. That was were it all began I suppose.

The hard edge to my eyes crept in over the years, and my smile lost its validity. I soon stopped being that innocent, loving girl that everyone expected me to be, and turned into a hard-assed, workaholic, who had no time for anything but education. I kept my head down, and instead of going out to the parties and the get together, I stayed at home, working. I was quite content in doing so, too.

The only downside to being at home was being around my 'dad'. I couldn't really call him that, because I was the reason the house still functioned. From a young age, I was propositioned into cooking, cleaning, taking care of myself and my drunkard father, because if I didn't, we both would have gotten into deep shit. My dad never once put his hands on me, so there was never any physical abuse. It was all mental.

The alcoholic slurs he would hurled at me, and the collection of all of the anger and hatred he held for my mother and her abandonment tumbled out whenever a touch of liquor hit his lips, he just turned into something else. I shiver to think of the days were I was too young to even understand what was going on, let alone realise what I was doing to make him upset - however I would always find myself crying, alone, every night as I heard the glass colliding with the light brown walls, or the insults being thrown around.

I had a fairly normal childhood, on the surface, but below that, I was truly miserable. Nobody deserved that.

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