"You don't like me, do you?"
"Wow. Nothing gets past you, Sherlock. Do you keep one of those magnifying glasses tucked away in that little vest of yours?"
•••
Lydia Beowulf works for the Hostage Response T...
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Lydia felt like she was gonna be sick as she sat on the couch in the round table room while the others discussed the interconnected web of her mother and father's case.
Her eyes kept darting to the black plastic trash can that was always tucked in the corner. The saliva that permeated her mouth was threatening to spill as the nausea continuously hit her in waves.
There was a feeling within her that didn't even feel surprised. Ever since she joined the team, she had her past dug up more and more than it ever had before. It was just her luck that this would fall into these specific places. It was like her chess game only consisted of pawns, and she had no defense against white. Drake Long and his connection to her mother was another play she had no way of tackling.
Besides, it was becoming more and more easy to pin the blame on herself. Every wrong turn in her life, and even others, had been attributed to her pedigree.
"Why don't you explain everything to us from the beginning." Rossi gently brought her out of her thoughts. Her eyes broke the sturdy tie and were met with the intense gazes from the others. Penelope's lips were turned into a frown, much like the rest of them. Except Spencer. He was avoiding her gaze like if he looked at her, he'd catch something. Little did he know, he would only receive her rage.
She knew she shouldn't be that mad at him for feeding her words right back to her. But she had spent much of her life fighting with herself to be reasonable, and she had grown tired of it. He should've waited for the story to leave her mouth. Instead, he sought the opportunity to make her mad. It felt like all of the progress they had made was reduced down into where it started.
She looked at Hotch, with his familiar narrowed gaze and straightened posture. It was a familiarity that anchored her to that room. He nodded for her to go on, and she let out a deep breath. "What do you need to know?"
"Why didn't you tell us?" Morgan blurted out. Within the months she knew him, she knew he tended to take trust personally. Especially since he had pleaded her to open up to him many times before and she assured him it all to be fine.
All of the hesitation in her body was leaving her quickly, and she was beginning to let the unfiltered thoughts leave.
"Would you like talking about your dead dad as an ice breaker, Derek?" She spat with narrowed eyes. The rest of the room held their breath, as Derek let the insensitive words sink in. His posture took defense, with his shoulders squaring and his nostrils flaring.
She waited for another stupid question, but they never came. They all just stared at her with their concerned expressions, and she was becoming more and more irritated.
