Again, thanks for the kind words and reviews. I really appreciate them. Apologies for sending some of you into waves of worry with the title of the last chapter. I honestly never even considered it might come across as a "final chapter" to the story. Trust me, when that time comes, I'll give you forewarning. And I've no immediate plans to wrap this up - there are way too many conversations still to be written!

We're jumping back into the always fascinating mind of Dr. Reid for this one.

Happy reading (=

"I want you to be everything that's you, deep at the centre of your being." – Confucius

"Hey, are you okay with pasta?" I hear her call from the kitchen.

"Yeah, that's fine. Whatever you've got," I reply quickly, turning my attention back to my previous task of scanning her bookshelves.

Despite my knowledge of her love of literature, I'm still a bit surprised to find a collection of books that would rival my own. There's a fairly wide range of genres filling the vast shelves, from classic literature to some more modern novels on a variety of subjects. There's a fairly large collection of children's literature, clearly held onto from her childhood, and some textbooks covering subjects ranging from psychology to biology to classic languages. There's also some foreign literature, a variety of dictionaries in different languages, and a reasonably impressive collection of classic philosophical works (most of which are in their original languages) filling the shelves. My eyes, however, are drawn to a small collection of books that sit separate from the others. I squat down to peruse them.

"Find something you like?"

Her voice startles me, and I spin quickly to find her standing in the doorway watching me. She grins widely, having caught me with a guilty look on my face, probably not unlike a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"That's my Vonnegut collection," she says, noting the objects of my scrutiny. "Most are signed copies, and a few are first-editions. I thought I'd lost them in the shuffle of my stint in Europe after Doyle. Turns out Morgan had snuck in here and taken them along with the rest of my books before my stuff got boxed up and dealt with. When I got back he confessed and returned them to me. What he didn't tell me was that he'd added in a signed first-edition of Mother Night."

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "A signed, first edition? That must be worth-"

"A lot. I know. I tried to give it back to him, but he insisted I keep it. Called it my "welcome home" present."

"I didn't get you anything when you came back," I say in realization. "Was I supposed to?" I ask, not quite sure what social protocol dictates in such a situation.

She chuckles softly. "No. And don't feel bad, there's not exactly a handbook for how to deal with those types of situations."

I smile. "No, I guess there isn't."

"Now c'mon handsome, you're gonna help me with dinner."

"Are you sure? JJ tried to teach me once, and I nearly set her kitchen on fire."

She holds in a chuckle. "I'm sure. It's about time you learned the practical side of cooking."

"I've read all the major books-"

"I said practical, Reid."

I grin in embarrassment. "Right."

An hour later, having long finished our meal, we sit and enjoy some conversation, each of us nursing a mug of coffee. We jump from topic to topic, discussing everything from literature, to the difficulties in translating philosophical works, to Doctor Who. But as pleasant as the day has been – chess in the park, a home-cooked meal, and lively conversation – I find my mind swinging back to the paperwork I'd spied on her desk a few days ago.

"Are you leaving?" I ask, filling a silence that had settled into our once thriving conversation.

She blinks in surprise. "What?"

"Are you leaving the BAU?" I clarify.

She lets out a long exhale and wets her lips before answering. "Yes."

This time it is me who blinks in surprise. As much as I'd suspected it might be true, I had refused to allow my mind to come to that conclusion. I'd shrugged it off, and ignored it.

"Reid," she says sadly, responding to my reaction.

"Why?" I ask quietly. I can't help the almost brokenness from bleeding into my tone. I curse inwardly. After everything with Doyle I swore to not be the broken one anymore, to not have to need others, and yet here I am, practically shouting through my tone that I need her to stay.

She tilts her head and looks at me sadly. "I need this. It hasn't been the same since I got back, and maybe I knew it never could be, but I still tried my hardest to make it be the same. And every single time it isn't, something inside me aches, and gets that little bit closer to breaking me."

I'm shocked by her honest and open response. It's not something I'm used to with her.

"But why leave? We're your family." I can't fathom how leaving the ones who would support you through anything would be beneficial.

She smiles sadly before answering. "That's part of it though. I love you guys, and you're right, you are my family. But… if I don't step away now and make a change, all I'll have left is painful memories of how it doesn't feel like it used to. And I'm afraid that will break me."

My eyes drop to the table, and I begin to wring my hands together. My mind races, scanning our interactions and her behaviour over the last months, looking for clues that might've led to this.

"How long have you felt this way?"

"Just about since I got back," she offers. "I was so happy to be back, but at the same time I felt horribly guilty over what I did to you all, and what I'd put you through. All I wanted was to get things to how they used to be. I did absolutely everything I could to fix things, but this feeling stuck around."

Things begin clicking in my mind – connections between behaviour and situations, and instances that were blatant clues if only I'd been looking for them. My face falls as I realize I hadn't picked up on any of it. I hadn't realized how miserable she'd been. I'd lost her once, and then failed her again.

"Spencer," she says, reaching across the table for my hands. My gaze snaps up at her use of my first name. Her tone is apologetic, and reminds me of a mother comforting a child. I reach forward and allow her to grasp my hands tightly.

"This isn't something you could have fixed if you'd noticed. I'm-" she takes a breath before continuing. "I'm not okay, and if I'm being honest, I haven't been for a long time. I just can't do it anymore – I can't try to be who I was before. But I'm not leaving you. You guys are still my family, and nothing is going to change that."

I'm struck by how much emotion I can see on her face, and especially in her eyes. It's more than I think I've ever seen from her. Her expression is sad, and her eyes seem to be pleading with me to understand.

"Where are you going?"

"Not far," she says simply. "Just to the Academy."

"The Academy?" I ask in confusion.

"Yeah, you're looking at their newest instructor."

A grin spreads on my face, and I give her hands a squeeze. A smile of relief settles onto her face.

Suddenly it clicks. She's spent her entire life doing things for others and making decisions with everyone else's best interests at heart. She put her career at risk to find answers about Matthew Benton for John Cooley, she risked her life to save Declan, she went after Doyle to save us, she tried to reintegrate into her old life for us. Her decision to leave the team is her listening to her own heart, and giving herself what she needs. For the first time, she's putting her own needs before those of everyone else. Though many would see it as a selfish decision, I see it as yet another brave act.

"Are we okay?" she asks, concern settling into her eyes once more.

It strikes me that for all our interactions over the years, and the ups and downs that we've had, the times I've had to comfort her are few and far between. In fact, I can't recall any particular instance where she's needed comfort from me. Her question echoes in the silence, and I realize I've wandered into my mind, leaving her in a state of worry.

"Yeah, we're good," I say with a smile and a small nod. She breathes out a sigh of relief as she closes her eyes briefly.

She tilts her head slightly and shoots me a thankful smile. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For understanding."

"Of course, Emily. I trust you, and I'm happy that you're making decisions with your own well-being in mind. It's about time you put yourself first."

"Thank you," she says again.

"You said that already."

"Yeah, but this one's for you just...being you."

"You said that already too, remember?" I reply, remembering a phone call from almost a year before.

"Way to ruin the moment, Spencer," she groans, bringing her hand to her face in disbelief.

I grin sheepishly. "Let me make it up to you. Let's go for dessert. That ice cream self-serve place isn't far from here."

She smiles and chuckles heartily. "Again with the dairy?"

If you have the time, I'd love to hear your thoughts. And of course if you have ideas/suggestions for future conversations, my ears are open. I make no promises, but they certainly all get thrown onto my "potential conversations" list.