Thank you for the reviews left for the first part. Part of the reason this fic will have sixth chapter, which I'll PM/email out to reviewers of all chapters is because I'm useless with review replies. I never know what to say!

Thank you to Kim, Sussi and the anonymous reviewer as well, and Chiroho for the beta on this. Be warned, C, you're going to get the first one of the other later...

Lake Erie: Part II

Digesting

"There are many forms of love and affection, some people can spend their whole lives together without knowing each other's names. Naming is a difficult and time-consuming process; it concerns essences, and it means power. But on the wild nights who can call you home? Only the one who knows your name."

- Jeanette Winterson

"Mom," Emily took the stairs two at a time. "Mom – the take-out's here." No answer came and Emily rolled her eyes, suppressing a groan of frustration. This had been the story so far of her relationship with her mother, a reversal of roles. "Mom..." she pushed open the study door, her eyes immediately going to the desk chair that was her mother's usual spot.

A finger paused over a set of lips where the lipstick always looked fresh, a phone to an ear. Emily threw a dramatic look of impatience and closed the door with a slightly louder bang that was sure to have made her mother jump -and hopefully gave the hint that she wanted to eat.

She made her way to the kitchen, which looked as unused as it was, and began to root through the box for the seaweed and soups that had just been delivered. She'd discovered on answering the door that the delivery boy hadn't needed to look up the address. He was a frequent visitor to her mom's Washington base, even though at first her mother had dismissed the idea of Chinese take-out as being 'too unhealthy'.

Emily took the lid off the hot and sour soup, and pulled a soup spoon out of the drawer where she knew the cutlery would be kept. Leaning against the kitchen counters, she began to eat, knowing that if she were to be polite and wait until her mother emerged from the phone call, the food could well be stone cold, and there was every possibility that she would be a collapsed heap, wasting away.

The polystyrene bowl was almost empty when the door finally swung open and Elizabeth Prentiss entered, still looking as fresh as she had done at the beginning to the day when they had gone for breakfast at an upmarket cafe, unimaginatively called 'Tiffany's'.

"You could have waited, Em," Elizabeth said. "Or at least taken that dry white out of the fridge and poured me a glass. There's gin in the cupboard too."

Emily put down the now empty bowl and let out a growl of frustration that she had perfected at the age of thirteen. "Don't try to tell me that you bought the gin specially, because I know you better than that," she said, finding the hi-ball glasses instantly.

Elizabeth gave an amused smile. "In that case I'll have a gin and tonic. But with lime, not lemon." She sat down at the table, twisting the chair so she could watch what Emily was doing. "You sure you want to leave tomorrow? I can get reservations for dinner tomorrow night at L'Oranger."

Emily unscrewed the gin and poured generous measures into the glasses. The tonic water was in the fridge, as was pre-cut lime. "You know I have a flight from Washington to Erie. I want to be there by mid-afternoon."

Her mother raised her eyebrows. "They can survive another day without you, Em. It's not often we get chance to catch up, and I'm off to Russia for six months next week."

Emily clutched hold of the glasses instead of dropping them. "And you were going to tell me this when?" she said, putting them down. She debated sitting down and continuing this discussion in a more serious manner, but the lure of the food was too strong. "Do you want your soup first?"

A frown played out on Elizabeth's face. "How do you stay so skinny when you eat so much?"

Emily crunched on a prawn cracker, punctuating her mother's question. "It's all the sex," she said. "Burns off calories."

Her mother laughed into her gin, shaking her head slightly. "Only you would tell your mother that! It's a good thing we don't have company. Anyway," she recovered. "Do you want to hear about Russia?"

Emily brought the food over along with a couple of plates and cutlery. "Whereabouts?"

"Moscow. You could come and see me; bring your boss and his son," Emily could tell that there was a pointed remark in there somewhere, but she chose to leave it alone for now.

She sat down, tipping seaweed onto her plate and using a fork and finger to get it into her mouth. "If we have a long enough break, then I might," she said. "Hotch might – but I can't speak for him. Besides, he has this lake house now, and I get the feeling he wants to spend as much time as he can there."

"Which means you'll be there too," Elizabeth said, sipping at the soup. "This is good."

"You say that like you're surprised. The delivery boy asked after you by first name," Emily looked across at her mother from over another fork full of seaweed.

"Do what I say, not as I do, Em. And Good food should always surprise you, even if you've had it before," Elizabeth said. "Besides, I've never been a good cook. How is Aaron?"

Emily chewed slowly, thinking. "He's fine. Glad of a break, like we all are."

"Okay, I'll rephrase my question. How are you and Aaron?"

The tone did not cover her curiosity, nor was it meant to. For all her tact and diplomacy, her mother had never used it on her daughter. Emily knew she saw it as unnecessary. They shouldn't need tact or diplomacy; there should just be the truth. It was an understanding they had come to after Italy; after the abortion.

Her mother's reaction had shocked her. There was no blame, for Emily, herself, or for anyone else. Instead there had been support, and a realisation that Emily had grown up in more ways than one. She was the only child; her mother was not going to push her away, and instead a closeness had grown between them. Once, when Emily had been twenty-five and they had been celebrating her birthday on a cruise of the Norwegian Fjords, her mother had told her that she was proud of her, of how she'd handled the situation when she was fifteen, and how she'd still lived. There had never been any shame.

"We are..."

"If you say fine I shall eat your dinner as well as my own." The threat was a quick one, and made Emily smile.

"It's good."

"It's the longest relationship you've had. I'm not passing judgement, Em, just stating a fact," Elizabeth said, eating the soup with more relish and less grace than when she started.

"It's still not all that long, mom," Emily said. "We enjoy each other's company, we have a lot in common, and it just seems to work."

Elizabeth nodded. "He's a nice man," she said. "If a little serious."

"He's not like that all the time."

"I would hope not," the inflection gave away exactly what her mother was thinking.

Emily looked up at the ceiling and then away from her.

"How do you feel about him?"

This time her tone was serious, and it caught Emily by surprise. Her mother had never interfered in Emily's love life, because Emily had never interfered in hers. She'd realised when she'd come back early from college one summer, that her parents' marriage was not built on fidelity, on either side, but that neither of them saw it as being a problem. Affairs were neither long nor short in duration, and were always discreet. They cost nothing in terms of pain and respect, and they had maintained a solid stance that was more than superficial.

But Emily had never been able to understand it. She had never been one to have secrets, even open ones, and she had known early on that she preferred monogamy. Her nerdiness had always made it hard enough to get one boy at a time to date her, two seemed out of the question and unnecessary.

"Emily, I asked you a question," it was the best mother-tone Elizabeth possessed, and it was rare she used it.

Emily shrugged. "Do I need a name for it?" she said. "I know I can't consider the possibility of it ending."

"Because of your jobs?"

"No. It would have no bearing on the BAU. Neither of us is likely to go straight into another relationship if what we have ends. And, we're both professionals," Emily said. She felt worried, as if her mother had just released a deluge into her chest and stomach and she didn't know where it was coming from to stop it.

"And judging from the expression on your face, you feel an awful lot for him," Elizabeth said, opening the second box of seaweed. "Have you told him?"

Emily wondered why her mother hadn't become a profiler. "No. It's not something we talk about. He's been through a lot this year..."

"And so have you. You had to back off after Haley's death, and during the whole Foyet thing. Whenever I spoke to you and you were at your apartment, you sounded the saddest I'd ever heard. Lonely. And I'd not known that since you were fifteen," Elizabeth said, her fork pushing around the seaweed on her plate.

"You know, if you don't want to eat that, mom, I'll finish it for you," Emily said, hoping the offer would change the subject.

In response, Elizabeth ate a large forkful of the seaweed and glared at Emily.

"He's aware of what he was like during that time," Emily said. "We're passed that now."

"So tell him how you feel. What could happen? You move in together? Maybe share the shopping?" Elizabeth said.

"Mother, I don't think you're right person to give advice on relationships," Emily said, looking for an exit. "You and dad..."

She was interrupted again. "Have had a very good marriage for forty-four years. We both found someone similar to ourselves, and yes, we may be a little unconventional, but Em, we've never been out of love." Her mother eyed her mischievously. "Stop trying to evade my question."

Emily opened the box of crispy shredded beef. "Because I don't want things to change. Telling him how I feel gives him a responsibility towards me. He shouldn't have that. At the moment we have freedom; there are no chains or expectations. Yes, we spend a lot of time together, but there is no contract."

"And what makes you think that by telling him how you feel there will be?" Elizabeth sat back in her chair, the glass of gin now in her hand.

"Were you a shrink in a former life?" Emily said with half a laugh. "I don't know; I just worry there will be."

Her mother nodded. "You always tell the truth, Emily. I've never known you to be this restrained. Besides, don't you think he knows?"

"Then if he knows, I don't need to say it, do I?" she said, picking up her own glass. "It becomes a moot point."

Elizabeth shook her head. "Entirely the opposite, Em. If you don't say it, you're hiding something."

"Then so is he," Emily said, returning to her fork. She understood why the delivery boy knew her mother's name.

Nothing was said, but Emily could feel her mother's eyes staring at her with amusement, as if she didn't understand something that was completely obvious. It annoyed her immensely.

"Only because you are," Elizabeth said when the silence became almost too much to bear. "He has more to lose. Your rejection would hurt him on a different scale. He has his son to consider. He's also been in a serious relationship before that didn't work out. Aaron has a bigger wager here, Em. It needs to be you who shows the colour of your money first."

Emily looked at her, feeling almost seasick. She said nothing, letting her thoughts wander to the man who was miles away from her in distance, but close in every other respect.

"Anyway," Elizabeth said. "Let me tell you about Russia."

I'm in a chatty mood. I know people in the past have portrayed Emily and her mother as not getting along, but I never got that impression from the episode when we saw Elizabeth. I thought the way Elizabeth referred to her as 'Em', and how Emily asked to 'go help her mother', showed that there was a positive dynamic between the two. So I guess this was my take.

Anyhow, more on Tuesday.

Please review – this is a very different chapter to the first part – it was meant to be!

Sarah x