Thanks, of course, go out to everyone who read, and particularly those who reviewed, the last chapter. Your continued feedback reinforces my desire to keep writing, so thank you!

Happy reading! =)

"There are obviously two educations. One should teach us how to make a living and the other how to live." – James Truslow Adams

I can't shake the feeling that she's going to run. Again. The rational part of my brain reasons that she didn't actually run, she fought to protect Declan and her family. But the rational part of my brain is not currently in control, and reason is doing very little to calm my nerves or assuage my fears. And so I find myself scrolling through the many pictures taken last night, scanning each frame and analyzing her body language in great detail.

It's her eyes that first gave rise to a niggling feeling in the depths of my mind. They seemed so filled with emotion, which in and of itself is uncharacteristic for her. I rationalized she was happy for JJ, and was celebrating the joy that permeated the air.

Then I noticed her in the background of a few photos, with an almost longing look in her eyes as she surveyed the dance floor that held the team. I dismissed it as me looking for things that weren't actually there.

Then I saw her being held by Morgan as they swayed gently to the music. She had completely melted into his embrace and her facial expression seemed to be bittersweet. Given the nature of their not-yet-actual-but-oh-so-close-to-becoming-a-reali ty relationship, I wrote that off too as merely a symptom of their refusal to acknowledge their more-than-friends chemistry.

Then I saw the picture of her and Reid dancing, and she was looking at him with eyes full of apology. Eyes seeming to plead with him to understand and to be strong.

By that point rationalization had given way to emotional reaction, and I began to worry she was going to run. Why, I wasn't quite sure, but I somehow knew she was planning to. And so I continue scrolling through the frames, looking for clues to explain why after just getting her back we were going to lose her again.

I'm startled from my musings when Mudgie pushes his head onto my lap. I give him a good scratch behind the ears and sigh.

"What am I gonna do, boy? We just got her back and she's going to leave again," I say, with another heavy sigh.

Mudgie cocks his ears and tilts his head to one side as he regards me with a curious look.

"If you've got any ideas, I'm certainly open to them, because I've got nothing."

His eyes seem to light up with excitement and he turns and walks purposefully out of the room.

"What's gotten into you?" I ask as I follow him, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Mudgie trots across the house giving a glance back every few steps to make sure I'm following. He reaches the door to my study, nudges the door open, and makes his way across the room to the cabinet that holds my more treasured and very expensive liquor. He sits down in front of it and splits his pointed stares between the latch and me.

I chuckle at his antics but make no move to do anything.

He barks loudly, and when I still don't make a move, he gets up quickly and begins pushing me toward the cabinet.

"Mudgie, quit it. What has gotten into you?!" I say exasperatingly. And then it dawns on me. "Mudgie! You're a genius!"

"Dave, I can't thank you enough for the invite. This stuff is heavenly."

"It ought to be, cost me a pretty penny," I reply as I relax further into the soft leather chair.

"I trust I don't want to know exactly how much?" she asks with a knowing smile as she runs her fingers over the many volumes filling my bookshelves that line my study's walls.

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies," I say with a smile.

She pauses to take another small sip and allows her fingers and gaze to settle on a thick, hard cover textbook.

"That was the textbook for my very first psych class," I explain, noting the object of her focus.

"You kept it all these years?" she queries, casting a questioning glance in my direction.

I shrug, "Yeah."

"Most people sell them or give them to a friend taking the class. Hell, most people can't wait to get rid of them," she says as she places the tumbler of liquor on my desk and pulls the volume off the shelf.

"I could never bring myself to get rid of it. If I wasn't flipping through it and re-reading sections, I was using it as a reference for another class. Besides, it's where it all started for me."

She flips it open and turns the pages, her eyes casually drifting across the text, "I knew after my first class in psychology I wanted to study it."

"Really?"

"I was hooked from the moment the professor started lecturing. There's just something about the way he explained the intricacies of the human mind that drew me in," she says as she continues flipping the pages, occasionally pausing to focus on something more closely.

"Good professors do that. They draw you in to their subject material without you even really realizing it, like a good story teller, really."

"Yeah, they do," she says as she replaces the book on the shelf and grabs her tumbler before settling into the chair across from me.

"Did you ever consider it?" I ask.

"Consider what?" she says as she takes another sip, letting her eyes close as she enjoys the full-bodied liquid.

"Teaching," I prompt.

Her eyes open abruptly and are filled with surprise, "Me, sit behind a desk and lecture to people? I can't say I ever saw that happening, I was always way too much of an adrenaline-junkie."

"And what about now?"

She pauses and bites her lip, clearly debating how much to reveal on the subject.

"Now I think I might've reached my limit, and some time behind a desk might be what I need," she says with a tone of uncertainty.

"So you are leaving," I reply.

Her eyes widen slightly before she shakes her head, "I should have known; the great David Rossi would figure it out, probably before I did."

"Where are you going?"

She sighs and takes another sip – it's become her liquid courage now that we've stumbled onto uncomfortable territory.

"London."

I blink in surprise, "England?"

She nods in response, "To run the Interpol office there for Clyde."

"That's quite the promotion."

"That's what Hotch said this morning."

"How long has this been in the cards?" I ask, wondering how long she's known that she'd be leaving us.

"I've been thinking about leaving on and off since I got back, but it only really materialized during the last case when I had to get a hold of Easter for some intel."

"And have you considered a change of occupation without the change in continent?" I say, unable to keep the slight tinge of hurt from seeping into my tone.

She winces slightly at my response, "Yes, but I'm not sure there's really anything left for me here."

"You're not serious?"

She furrows her brow, "I didn't mean it that way. I love you guys, I just… My life isn't the same as it was before. I can't just grab onto my old life and carry on as if nothing happened."

"And so you have to leave the country and continent to build a new life?"

"I went through hell, Dave," she says defensively.

"No one is saying you didn't Emily. What I'm saying is maybe you don't need to leave everything behind in order to build something new. The roots you have aren't rotten, they're strong."

"But those roots remind me of everything that did rot," she says sadly.

"That's because you haven't had the chance to make new associations with those roots. They're there, waiting for you to let yourself experience them."

She sighs and finishes off the liquid in her tumbler, "And what kind of association are those, Dave?"

I can't contain the smirk that sneaks onto my face, "Derek Morgan, for one."

Her eyes widen and the blush that sweeps over her face is brief, but significant, despite her vehement denial.

"I'm not sure what you mean by that. He's a very good friend, a trusted colleague, and one hell of a partner but-"

"Mmhmm, and all that flirting over the years has been completely platonic?" I ask, interrupting her denial.

"Rossi, don't be ridiculous," she says, avoiding my eye contact. I don't miss the switch back to the use of my surname.

"Is it really so ridiculous? You two know each other so well, not to mention you've been to hell and back together. Even Reid has noticed the tension."

She looks stunned and is unable to form a response at first. I polish off the last of my drink and set the tumbler down on the table beside me as I give her a bit of time to process.

"Is it that obvious?" she finally asks.

"So you admit there is something there," I say triumphantly.

She glares in response.

"But in answer to your question, yes."

"Then why did he give me support when I told him I was leaving?"

"Because he's a good friend."

She doesn't respond, and her attention shifts to picking at her fingernails. Old habits die hard.

"You were hoping he'd give you a reason to stay," I say, phrasing it not as a question but a statement of fact.

A beat of silence passes before she nods minutely in response, her gaze still focused intently on her hands.

"He wants to, Bella, believe me. I see it in his eyes, he's torn between being selfish and chasing his own happiness, or putting his own happiness aside and letting you chase yours."

She fidgets in her chair for a moment before rising to her feet and returning to stand in front of the bookshelf-lined wall. Her fingers drift over the volumes once more, and I can tell she's trying to piece together something.

"Why didn't you ever initiate anything?" I ask her, taking a chance that she won't freeze and throw up her defensive walls once more.

She doesn't answer right away, instead taking some time to ponder the question, and let herself realize the answer.

"There's always been more important things going on. Cases piling up, Doyle coming back into my life, having to win back the trust of the team, trying to fix this… feeling that I have."

"Emily-"

"Don't "Emily" me, Dave," she says with a small smile, before turning her attention back to the books lining the wall. "I guess it's just easier to move on now."

"You're really telling me that leaving behind the people you consider family and fought so fiercely to protect is really the best option to fix this feeling you've got?"

"Dave, I just can't do this job anymore. It's sapping the life out of me."

"So quit your job, but stay here. You've got a family who loves you and wants you here."

"It's not that simple," she says her face twisting in regret.

I exhale in frustration, and the phrase that escapes my lips surprises me, "Emily. Please, don't go."

Her eyes squeeze shut at my words, and she wraps her arms around herself, seemingly to hold herself together. I hear her let out a long, shaky breath and watch her rub her arm absently.

"Stay for me, Bella. My old ticker can't take you running off again," I say with a small smile playing on my lips.

She doesn't respond, and continues holding herself tightly, as though she might fall apart the moment she releases her arms.

"Stay for me, and Hotch, and Garcia, and JJ, and Reid," I implore her, my tone sounding almost desperate. "Stay for Morgan – he needs you now more than ever." My words have their intended effect, and I see her tighten her grip on herself. Her closed eyes, furrowed brows, and teeth holding her lip all tell me there's a fierce debate waging in her mind.

After what seems like hours of silence, she releases her hold on herself and relaxes visibly.

"Well if I'm not going to be chasing criminals, what am I going to do with myself?" she asks with a small smile.

I grin widely in return, "You'll teach in the Academy, of course."

As always, if you have the time, I'd love to hear your thoughts!