Chapter Text
1. Emily had grown accustomed to her parents arguing, it had been the soundtrack of the past six years of her life. She was used to slamming doors and shouting, but this argument felt different, heavier, almost. She heard her father walk up the stairs, and ran to her bed, trying to pretend she’d been sleeping. His footsteps stopped at the door, and she peeked out into the darkness. He was just standing there, watching her. She’d always had an intense sense of when something was wrong, and this was wrong . He walked away from her door, and she cried herself to sleep. The next morning, she’d walked downstairs timidly, wanting breakfast. Her mother had been sitting on the couch, tear tracks on her face. She knew then that last night was the last time she’d ever see her father. It’s something she’d internalized over the years, wondering why she wasn’t good enough for her father to request visitation, for him to ever try to see her again.
2. When she’d initially told him, she’d seen it on his face before he told her. When he explained that he didn’t really like her like that, that the fateful night a few weeks ago was just a one time thing, she nodded and agreed. He’d told her she could do whatever she wanted with the baby, as long as no one ever knew it was his. She knew then that he’d left her little choice other than an abortion. She deliberated over it painstakingly night after night, knowing her mother would throw her out instantly if she ever found out she was pregnant. Maybe with John on her side, they could’ve worked it out, but there was no way she could do it alone. She made an appointment for an abortion the next week.
3. The first time he hit her, she’d written it off as a mistake. He’d apologized, told her he would never do it again, and she believed him. The second and third times, she’d grown worried, but she had no one to turn to. It was times like these she wished she had a father like the rest of girls her age, someone who would threaten to kill this guy if he ever laid a finger on her. Instead, she had her mother, who told her that his influence was worth more than her safety. She’d stayed with him for another three months, until she’d ended up in a hospital, bruised and alone. She knew then that she wanted to help other women who were hurt and alone, to bring their attacker to justice. She told the nurses that she’d just fallen down some stairs, shrugged off their pitying looks, went home and packed up her things while he was sleeping. The next week she applied to Yale.
4. Her handler at Interpol had told her that this was the best way to help other women, to help the world. If she did this, and did it right, she could save millions. She hadn’t wanted to, going deep undercover was dangerous, and difficult, and not what she had been looking for, but he had talked her into it with promises of how many she’d save. When her car exploded, she faked her death, and he had only granted her one week of leave before her next undercover operation; she handed in her resignation and took a job at the BAU.
5. Living with Ian was hard. Ian was never cruel, per say, but he often gave her ultimatums. If she had sex with him, he wouldn’t beat one of the maids that day. If she helped him with the trades, he wouldn’t make Declan help him. She got incredibly used to using her body to get what she wanted, to help others. She’d been able to compartmentalize, at first, that Lauren was overly sexual to get what she wanted, but Emily only had sex when she wanted it. Eventually, the line blurred, and even after her mission was finished, she used sexual favours to get what she wanted, and thank people for giving her what she wanted.