A/N- I went on a run yesterday, got lost, found a bench, and wrote this on my phone. I eventually found my way back to campus, but I feel the need to tell you that to 1. explain the potential spelling errors, 2. excuse the philosophical nature of this chapter.

A reviewer said that the last chapter about Elizabeth was more from Emily's POV, and not really like all the others, and they were right. So I'm renaming the last chapter 'Ambassador Prentiss' and this one is 'Elizabeth Prentiss', because I believe there's a difference.

Finally, this story has been nominated for the Profiler's Choice awards as Best Femslash and Best Emily/JJ so thank you so much to everyone who nominated it, now go out and vote! The ballot is located on the Profiler's Choice Awards 2015 Forum.

11. Elizabeth Prentiss

Elizabeth Prentiss was busy. That is to say she was busy in the way that some people were bubbly or kind, it was a constant state of being. Something that curled like smoke in her lungs and settled deep in the pit of her stomach. When she wasn't doing something, she could feel it tingling in the tips of her fingers, this pent up something that she needed to get rid of.

That's how she felt sitting in the hospital room, resentfully running her fingers over the material of the gown she had been guilted into wearing by her husband. Her contractions were still minutes apart and she couldn't contain the nerves she felt in between each one.

She kept running through things in her head, lists of things she had to do, people she had to call, things she had to get. And yet her daughter was not waiting for Elizabeth to get her life in order before she made an entrance.

Hours later, after plenty of tears, laughter, and sweat, and she was sitting with a small girl nestled against her chest. Emily was so small, Elizabeth could hardly believe that something so tiny could have held her life up for nine months, putting the normally controlling woman at mercy of every whim.

It didn't take long for Elizabeth to learn that this was how she would define her relationship with her daughter. Emily made her way through the world exactly the way she came into it- brashly on her own terms, waiting for nobody's approval.

In her early years, this amounted to Elizabeth's general entertainment when she brought Emily with her to work, setting her toddler up in a playpen in the corner, and wasting time she didn't wish to spend doing her work watching Emily figure out how to either unlatch the pen and break free, find some way to climb up and out, or knock the structure over entirely.

As Emily grew up, these little rebellious acts grew up with her.

…

Elizabeth was in the kitchen poking around for something to justify breakfast for her daughter (she wasn't often home for these morning rituals, but now that she was, she finally realized just how clueless she was when it came to this domestic sphere) when she heard the rucous coming from the front room.

She followed the noise to find the reclining chair knocked over, and her daughter sprawled across the carpet beside it.

"What are you doing, Emily?"

"Nothing!" The seven year old immediately covered, jumping to her feet with a slight wobble. She held her left arm gingerly and bit her lip.

"Emily Lee-Anne Prentiss." She warned, using her daughter's full name and a hard look to get the girl to divulge the truth.

Emily folded quickly, "I was playing cops and robbers." The brunette admitted to her sock covered feet, toes digging into the carpet.

"By yourself?"

Emily nodded once.

It was the kind of game Elizabeth remembered from her own childhood, running the back streets of New Jersey, growing up with two older brothers, cops and robbers was the kind of thing Elizabeth Prentiss was intimately familiar with. But her daughter was raised differently, Emily had piano lessons, and was already fluent (as fluent as a seven year old can be) in three languages, she spent more time around politicians and tutors than she did around cops or the gubby street children Elizabeth grew up with.

Elizabeth was drawn from her musings by her daughter's slight scowling, "What's wrong, dear?"

"My arm hurts."

Turns out a small inconvenience for the seven year old was a full dislocated shoulder. Elizabeth never would quite understand how her daughter managed to endure the whole adventure of dislocating her shoulder, going to the hospital, and getting it popped back in place (without pain meds because she was too young) with not a single tear.

Elizabeth knew from that day on, there was nothing that would stop her girl.

…

As Emily grew, Elizabeth would amend her line of thinking from 'there's nothing that can stop Emily' to 'there's nothing that can stop Emily but herself'. The family moved to Eastern Europe, then Greece, Emily made herself scarce, and for a while Elizabeth let herself believe that this was normal teenage rebellion.

Normal teenage rebellion turned into staying out late (or in most cases until early the next morning) and Elizabeth let herself believe this was just Emily trying to fit in. Emily trying to fit in turned into a cloud of cigarette smoke and more often than not, Emily came home glassy eyes with her lip caught viciously between her teeth while she focused intently on the short walk from the doorway to the stairs.

Elizabeth tried to convince herself these were normal things. If she ignored the overbearing smell of alcohol, she could almost pretend they were still in their home in the states where Emily first learned to walk. She would inch her way across the family room with her lip caught the same way, that same intense look of concentration on her face as she took each step. Her body would have the same unsteady wobble.

Elizabeth waited up every single night until Emily got home. She didn't let her daughter have a car because she took such great comfort in hearing the engine of whatever had driven Emily home pull out of the driveway- at least Emily wasn't driving drunk.

She knew Emily was sleeping with boys- girls too- and she let herself believe that this was Emily trying to find herself. She wanted to be able to tell her daughter that this wasn't how; she belonged somewhere, but it wasn't here. Elizabeth wanted to tell her daughter that the world would want so much from her, and sometimes it was alright to not be able to give it. She wanted to say 'people will look at you like you are The Answer, but you are not the answer, you were not made to solve their problems.'

She doesn't.

Instead she sits up waiting for Emily to come home every night, and she tells her, "Don't make any permanent mistakes."

…

Elizabeth knew JJ was right for Emily the first time she saw the way the blonde looked at her daughter. She didn't look at her like she was The Answer. Not even when the two stayed over for their first Christmas together at the Prentiss house, JJ had gotten a phone call in the middle of dinner and when she didn't return for ten minutes, Emily went to check on her. Elizabeth found them embracing in the entryway, Emily stroking Jennifer's hair reassuringly and whispering in her ear.

Elizabeth would later learn that she had just been informed that her grandfather had passed away, but even then, JJ didn't look at Emily like she was The Answer, or a life best, or a safety net. She looked at Emily like she was flesh and bone and permenant and transient and like she hung the moon, but fell off the ladder when she tried to get down.

JJ looked at Emily like she was a question she intended to spend her whole life trying to figure out.

…

Elizabeth knew that the only thing that would stand in Emily's way is Emily. So when her daughter called her in the middle of the night, she answered on the third ring.

"Prentiss."

"It's me, Mom."

Elizabeth rolled out of bed, padding down the hall to her study so she wouldn't wake her husband, "What's wrong, Emily?"

The woman didn't bother to fixate on how her mother knew something wasn't right, "I had a fight with JJ."

"What was it over?"

"I don't know, a lot of little things. We've never fought like this before."

Elizabeth didn't doubt that, the two women had been married for nearly five years and she has never heard Emily sound so distressed in that time.

"What are you doing right now?"

"Watering the lawn."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "It's one thirty in the morning."

"I couldn't stay in the house, we're both too good at fighting and I had to leave before either of us said something we'd regret." Emily explained.

Elizabeth knew this to be true, it was the same way her marriage was, "Ok, first put out your cigarette." Elizabeth commanded.

"I'm not-"

"I know you're smoking, put it out, and don't argue with me."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line until Emily huffed out a 'fine'.

"Good, now, do you love Jennifer?"

"Mom-"

"Just answer the question."

"Yeah." Emily sighed, "I love her."

"Why?"

There was another pause and Elizabeth could hear the garden hose in the background.

"I don't know, I just do."

"Exactly." The ambassador smiled, "Some things just don't follow reason. You will pick your love apart if you try to analyze it too deeply. You just need to accept there are some things you cannot explain, and when you get that, you'll understand there's no hurdle you can't overcome."

"But what do I do?"

"Stop drowning your lawn. Go inside, apologize, and work it out. You are the only barrier to your own happiness Emily. Trust me, your stubbornness runs in the family."

Emily heaved a sigh, "Thanks, mom."

"Anytime Em."

Elizabeth heard the hose turn off before the phone was disconnected.

A/N- Let me know what you thought, and go vote!