Bruised Knuckles and Empty Lies

Chapter 1

Morgan's POV

    The Quantico police department was beginning to die down as everyone left for the night. I glanced over at Prentiss, seeing that she's deep in a conversation with the department chief on how J.J.'s doing with the kids. We came here after work to drop by some files that one of the officers requested for research, and even though I could leave, I wanted to make sure Prentiss got out okay.
    I was just about to call it quits and excuse the both of us when a cop swung open the door, escorting another cop who was dragging a tiny girl inside by her arm. He walked so quickly that she had to practically run just to keep up with him. The cop dragging her along had a nasty smirk on his face, like he enjoyed bringing her in. The girl, on the other hand seemed...more annoyed than anything. Even though she was just a teenager, she acted like this had happened before, but her eyes were darting all around. She was hoping to see someone she knew. Then, her eyes connected with mine, and for a brief second, all I saw in those big brown eyes was fear. Well, fear, and a busted lip. She probably got in a fight with someone.
    She stumbled over her own feet when the officer pulled her in an effort to hurry her up. That's when I noticed how she was dressed. She wore a battered blue jacket over a white t-shirt and black skinny jeans with holes in the knees. I could see from here that they were scraped and bleeding.
Those two were followed by yet another cop who had a black eye. What was this little, five-foot-nothing girl doing messing around with a cop? He looked pretty pissed off. I guess I'd be pissed too if a 100 pound girl gave me a nasty shiner. Something didn't feel right though.
The cop who had an iron grip on the girl brought her to the back where the holding cells were. I went up to Prentiss and the chief and cut into their conversation.
"Did you see that little girl?" I asked in a hushed voice. He nodded and chuckled a little while he shook his head.
"That one's been on the wrong side of the tracks for a while now. No one can get her to straighten out," he explained. That weird feeling didn't go away though.
"You mind if I go talk to her?"
"Be my guest."
"I better head out, but Morgan, I'll see you tomorrow?" Prentiss excused herself. I nodded.
"Drive safe," I told her before I turned around and began walking toward the back.
I walked down a hallway full of offices and rooms with doors wide open until I got to the back of the station where there were a few different holding cells. All of them were empty except for the last one, where a cop stood on one side of the bars in front of a desk, and she stood face-to-face with him on the other, her arms crossed over her chest.
I couldn't hear what he said, but as I got closer, I heard her growl, "Fuck off." The cop just laughed, seemingly mocking her and started walking toward me.
"Can I help you?" he asked. He was a bigger guy, but not so big that he was out of shape. I still stood taller, so he was forced to look slightly up at me.
"I want to talk to the girl," I said, flashing him my badge.
"Go ahead. You won't get much out of her though. She's a feisty one." He handed me the key that unlocked her cell and walked away, but not before warning, "Let me know if she gives you any trouble." I didn't reply. I made my way to the door of the girl's cell and got a good look at her. She sat on the floor with her back against the cinderblock wall. I didn't think she noticed me there until I unlocked the door, and she popped her head up, no longer fascinated with seeing how much damage was done to her knees.
"Who the hell are you?" she asked, crossing her arms in front of her, between her chest and her bent legs.
"Agent Derek Morgan, FBI," I told her.
"Damn," she mumbled.
"What're you doing, sitting on the floor?"
"Keeps me grounded," she said honestly. I nodded, walking a few steps closer. She turned her head back to look straight forward, away from me. That's when I noticed that she was shivering.
"You cold?"
"They took my jacket," she said flatly, not showing any emotion. My eyes scanned the room, and I spotted her blue jacket on the desk outside of the cell. I crossed the room, grabbed it, and brought it back to her, examining it. This jacket was at least a few years old and pretty beat up, with holes in the pockets and the string missing.
"There's nothing in there that can hurt you," she said, almost mockingly.
"I know," I replied truthfully, extending my arm, offering her jacket back to her. She grabbed it with her left arm almost too quickly, probably hoping I wouldn't notice her arm littered with scars and bruises. The bruises on her forearm looked like self-defense bruises, probably from whatever happened to her. As she slipped on her jacket, I saw that her right arm looked the same.
"You're left handed," I told her. She nodded. "You know, whoever hit that cop had to've had a mean right hook." So it couldn't have been her, could it?
She shrugged, trying to suppress a smile. Wait, so she DID hit him?
"How'd you hit him hard enough to leave bruises with your right hand?" I was puzzled.
"I never said I used my hand," she smiled, trying not to laugh.
"You kicked him? He's a foot taller than you," I argued. She shrugged, and I knew my answer. I shook my head in disbelief and sat down on the ground with her, against the opposite wall so we were facing each other. Except, she couldn't seem to meet my eyes.
After a full minute of silence, I asked her, "So why'd you do it?"
"Does it matter?" she shot back. Hurt lined her voice.
"He got you pretty good there," I pointed to my lip. She touched hers and winced as her fingertips made contact with her split lip. When her fingers came away, there was fresh blood on them. She sighed and rubbed it off on her jeans, mumbling something under her breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing," she insisted.
"What's your name, kid?"
"Alex."
"You got someone you need to call? Parents? Grandparents? Someone to get you outta here before morning?" I asked, reaching for my cell phone in my pocket. She just shook her head and examined her knees again. "Don't you think your parents should know where you are?" She looked like she wanted to say something, but held it in. "You got something to say? Say it."
"Who do you think locked me in here in the first place? Think it'll 'teach me a lesson.' Bullshit." She muttered the last part, but I could still hear her.
"Was that your dad you nailed in the face?" I asked, my voice rising. She seemed to notice and pulled her legs closer into herself.
"'Dad' is an overstatement." Oh, okay, now it's starting to make some sense.
"So you're a foster kid. How old are you? Fifteen? Sixteen?"
"Seventeen," she corrected me.
"So you're almost out of the system." That could explain why she's lashing out.
"Think what you want, I don't give a fuck," she retorted, seemingly reading my mind.
"Watch your language, kid. That could get you in some trouble someday."
"What, you mean like now?" she rolled her eyes. It was all an act, though. One that she was getting tired of very quickly. I checked my watch and realized that it was getting close to midnight, and this kid looks like she hasn't gotten much sleep to begin with. No wonder she was irritated.
Her words made me put two and two together. The bruises, the scars, her resorting to kicking him in the face. I felt stupid that I didn't realize it before, even though it was getting late even for me.
"How long has your foster dad been beating you?" I asked bluntly. This was the first time she met my eyes since I first saw her. She looked startled for a second before masking it with a look of apathy. Alex shrugged and fidgeted a little. She was starting to shut down, so I decided to give both of us a break.
"I'm gonna grab some coffee from the break room. You want any?"
"No thanks," she mumbled.
"You sure kid?"
"Yeah, I probably shouldn't. I haven't eaten anything all day." Nothing?
"Any allergies?" She shook her head, puzzled at the question. I nodded. "If I leave the door unlocked, are you gonna make a run for it?"
"I wouldn't be able to get far anyway," she said, gesturing to her knees. I nodded, closing the metal barred door behind me as I walked a few doors down to the break room.
The cop she kicked, who I now knew was Alex's foster dad, sat at one of the tables with an ice pack pressed against his face, talking to the cop who dragged Alex in here. I quietly grabbed the coffee pot and filled the paper cup up most of the way as I listened in on their conversation.
"Dave, I swear, you should leave her in here for the whole weekend after what she did to you," the sweaty cop told Alex's foster father.
"I would, but Maribeth would have a fit. You know she's got that prayer group tomorrow afternoon, so I gotta have the kid home by then to keep up appearances."
"You two are saints, doing what you're doing, saving these kids even after what they do to you."
"Yeah, well, it's a nice payout," Dave said, causing both of them to erupt in laughter as I poured sugar into my coffee. "We only have the one now, the other girl aged out a few months back."
"Soon you and Mary'll be empty nesters, huh?"
"Mary'll probably insist on getting another one. She wants a boy this time though. The boys cause much less trouble in her opinion, but I just think that's 'cause they're less fun in their teenage years."
I tuned out the rest of their conversation as I put a lid on my coffee and took a few steps over to the snack table, grabbing a water bottle and a granola bar for the kid.
Before I left, I heard Dave say, "I can't wait til she turns eighteen so I can finally kick her out for good, the little bitch."

Walking back into the holding cell area, I heard sniffling coming from Alex's cell. I quickly made my way over there without seeming like I was in a rush to make sure she's okay. She still sat where she was originally, but her knees were pulled up close to her chest, and her arms were wrapped around them, hiding her face.
"Alex?" I gently said. She quickly wiped her eyes and nose and lifted her head, but she still wouldn't meet my eyes, that is, until I held out the water bottle and granola bar for her to take.
"Thanks," she said with a shaky voice and red eyes.
"You okay?" I asked.
"I'm fine." She twisted open the water bottle and took a few sips before moving onto the granola bar.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she cleared her throat and asked me a question:
"So, why are you still here? No offense or anything." I waited a few seconds before answering her.
"We both seem like we need company tonight." Alex seemed satisfied with the answer, so she didn't push it, and I didn't ask her why she was crying, even though I felt like I needed to know so I could make her feel better. Instead, I distracted her to pass the time.
"So, you're seventeen, so you're a junior or senior, right?"
"Um, kind of," she blushed. "I'm a senior, so I'm taking high school classes and graduating soon, but I'm also enrolled in college, and I'm almost finished with my undergrad in criminal psychology." I stared at her in disbelief before smiling and shaking my head.
"You know, you remind me of one of my closest friends, Spencer Reid. He's a genius, too."
"Oh, I'm not-"
"Trust me, sweetheart, you are," I argued. She smiled a little and tugged a little at her hair. Probably a nervous tic. "What do you do for fun, little Einstein?" She rolled her eyes, but in a playful way.
"Not much, really. I'm not allowed to join any clubs or sports or anything, so I mostly just hang out at home and study and read."
"What about friends?"
"Oh, I don't have a lot of friends," she replied, a little embarrassed. "I move around too much for that." I nodded.
"How long have you been with this family?"
"About...two years now," she said.
"How do you like it there?" She shrugged and tugged on a thread hanging from one of her jacket sleeves.
"I can handle it."
"That's not what I asked," I told her. Her response worries me. She's getting beat up, but there could easily be other forms of abuse that she's being subjected to there.
"Dave's an alcoholic and Maribeth's a Jesus freak." Somehow, she sounded more bitter about her foster mom than her physically abusive foster dad.
"You wanna talk about it?"
"No thanks, Dr. Morgan," she retorted. Okay, I should've seen that one coming. I checked the time on my watch, and it was much later than I thought it would be. I should leave, I have work in the morning. Alex was still playing with that thread, but the bags under her eyes looked darker than before, and I knew she needed sleep. I stood up to leave, and she immediately shot up and stood, too. She looked scared, but she also looked like she was trying to cover up her fear.
"I should get going," I clarified, making sure she knew I wasn't going to hurt her.
"Um, what time is it?"
"Almost one," I replied.
"Oh," was all she said. I grabbed my business card from my pocket and handed it to her.
"If you need anything at all, please call me, okay? Day or night, I'll pick up."
"Thanks for this, and for the company," she smiled a little, putting the card safely in her back pocket.
"Anytime, kiddo." Guit spread through me as I closed the cell behind me and locked it, putting the key on the desk across from the cell. Just as I was leaving, I looked back at Alex who was back on the floor, examining her bloody knees.