December 1st

Emily stood at the cemetery gates, bouquet held limply in her hand as she struggled to muster the emotional fortitude to enter. It had taken her a full twenty-four hours to get this far and wasn't sure it wouldn't take another twenty-four to make it the rest of the way.

It wasn't that she didn't want to visit him...but standing there, at his graveside, made things real in a way she could pretend they weren't the rest of the time.

Clyde Easter had been in perfect health the day he'd died. Maybe that's what was hardest about his death. If he'd been battled illness for many months, it would be different, she supposed. But one day, he'd been a healthy happy man buying paint for the nursery and the next, the police were asking her to come to the morgue to identify his body.

He'd been stopped at a red light when a drunk driver had careened headlong into the front of his car. The last thing he'd ever seen, the last thing he'd ever known was that he wasn't going to survive to see his child enter the world.

It had been the worst day of Emily's life. And she just couldn't bring herself to relive it by visiting his final resting place every week the way people in town seemed to think she ought to...

But after six months, she felt she needed to see him. Clyde had loved Christmas, had made a big deal of the holiday season. He'd been so excited to spend December getting ready for their first child. She had no idea how she was going to face a Christmas without him and she wanted to tell him so.

A voice from behind her startled her moment of silent introspection when it rang out, asking, "The gates locked?"

She whirled around, eyes wide in alarm. "Oh! No, I, umm... I was just trying to..." She gestured vaguely over her shoulder at the cemetery.

Derek nodded once in understanding. "Trying to work up the nerve to go inside," he finished for her.

Blinking back tears, she attempted a smile. "Are you here to..."

"My father," he answered her unarticulated question. Then, seemingly unable to stop talking, he said, "It's been twenty-five years since he passed, but every Christmas without him feels like the first..."

She nodded, not quite able to find a response.

"Can I walk with you?" he offered. At her raised brow, he added, "The path is icy and I'd hate to see you fall in your condition..."

"Oh." She nodded once. "Sure."

They walked in silence up to Clyde's grave and a moment of respectful silence followed as Derek paused to pay his respects. Then, recognition seemed to dawn on him. "You're Emily Prentiss?"

She nodded slowly. "I'm sorry – you are?"

"Derek Morgan," he said. "We grew up together... Not sure if you remember..."

"Right. Derek. Of course. You, umm...you look different," she said.

He nodded, but didn't comment further. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said instead. "I read about the accident in the paper..." A beat. "I didn't realize you were..." He gestured at her belly.

Her eyes turned sad as she stroked her belly. "Thirty-four weeks," she whispered.

He didn't seem to know how to respond. But then, no one really did.

"If you don't mind," she said gently, "I'd like to be alone now."

When Emily arrived home, a letter was waiting for her. Picking up the envelope, she flipped it over once, twice, inspecting it. There was no address, no postage. Just an unfamiliar handwriting labelling the recipient as Silver Belle.

She looked up to find JJ grinning at her over the rim of her coffee mug.

"What's this?" she asked, knowing that somehow, she was responsible.

JJ shrugged, playing at cluelessness.

"You signed me up for the Christmas Pen Pal thing?"

Another shrug.

"Jayje!" she said, exasperated. "I told you..."

She didn't let Emily finish. "Em, this will be good for you," she insisted. "You've been so lonely since the accident – you need to make a friend."

"I thought this was Penelope's elaborate scheme to play matchmaker for the whole town?" she asked, still annoyed.

"It doesn't have to be," she insisted. "It's just two people who are compatible writing letters. That's all."

Emily rolled her eyes. "So, this isn't some big scheme to find me a new husband?"

JJ held up her hands in self-defence. "Purely platonic, I swear."

"Fine," she said, even though she appeared none too pleased anyway. "I'll write the damn letter."

Dear Silver Belle;

I guess I'm not all that sure what to write. I was kind of emotionally blackmailed into writing this... I guess, though, I shouldn't complain, considering the fact that I don't exactly have a great history of meeting people the so-called old-fashioned way. (Let's just say that I haven't had a real friend since I was a kid...and even then I'm pretty sure she kind of hated me.)

Way to be a downer, right?

In spite of everything, I am actually excited about this whole experience. Christmas has always been my favourite time of year. I guess I've lost some of my enthusiasm for it over the years, but maybe this will bring back some of the magic I'm looking for.

But enough about me...

In the spirit of the season – and of discovering more about my mystery damsel – I have some questions...

1. Favourite Christmas movie? (Yes, there IS a right answer!)

2. If you were writing a letter to Santa, what would you ask for?

3. Your favourite family Christmas tradition?

4. Your best Christmas memory?

5. The best Christmas gift you ever got?

I know it's kinda cheesy and childish, but they're the only questions I can ask you without you giving away your secret identity...like Batman.

Anyway. I guess I can't give you too much to go on either, so just call me Pilgrim. (If you can guess the origin of the nickname, I'll know they matched me with the right girl...)