Many thanks for your comments on the last chapter. We've got yet another new perspective for this conversation. This one's a bit shorter than I would've liked, but some of the chapters I'm working on now fully make up for it, I swear.

Happy reading (=

"Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow." – Melody Beattie

I shift on my feet awkwardly and studiously avoid focusing on the very reason I'd come in the first place. My eyes flit from tree to tree, follow the path of a leaf as it blows by, and gaze at a man having an in-depth conversation with a loved one. A quick glance at my watch tells me I have time to do this; I don't have to be at work for another hour and a half. I sigh heavily and tuck my hand back into my jacket pocket. I kick some loose dirt in front of me as my eyes now focus on the ground by my feet.

"Hi," I manage to croak out, my mind still frantically trying to piece together something coherent to say. I shake my head and pull my hands from my pockets to cross my arms over my chest. It feels wrong to me to try and speak to someone who isn't here anymore. Garcia had suggested I come and say what's on my mind, insisting that it would help. Not wanting to be rude, I nodded as she suggested it and agreed to visit, but I think I knew then, as I do now, that it wouldn't do me any good to talk to a grave. And yet, for some reason, I'm here.

I hadn't known her long enough for such a conversation to be meaningful. I could wax poetic about how much impact she had on me, and how I'll forever be thankful for her having my back, but that would be doing a disservice to her as an agent, colleague, and person. The fact of the matter is that I just didn't know her long enough to be able to really and truly feel the depth of this loss. Yes, she was my mentor, but only for a short while. I'm not saying she wasn't a great mentor – she definitely was – but it's hard to really bond with someone over the course of just a couple months.

As I think back to that moment in the hospital when we all got the news, I realize how hard it hit me. I'm not sure I've ever felt so out of place than in that moment. I felt like I was intruding on their grief. It didn't feel right for me to be there – I wasn't family. Sure, I may have been a part of the team on paper, but I was never really a part of the team. I hadn't earned my place in that family yet. I remember watching as each of them broke, succumbing to that deeply painful grief of losing a family member, and desperately wishing to just disappear and leave them to grieve in private.

I shift my gaze up from the ground and settle it on the headstone in front of me. I think back to one of the first conversations I ever had with her. In light of all we'd learned about her before her death, I realize there was far more to her words than I could have known. But I suppose that's something that Emily Prentiss embodied – there was always a lot more to her than you thought.

"The truth is I… never actually thought about them being fathers at all."

"I don't think anyone does."

I realize now the complete lack of truth in her words. She spent months with Doyle, and knew he was Declan's father. She hadn't just thought about him being a father, she'd watched and been a part of him being a father. I wonder if Doyle was similar in any way to my own father in his parenting. As much as I hate my father for what he did, it's hard for me to just forget he was the loving and doting dad that helped raise me. I wonder if Prentiss had any degree of similarity in her thoughts about Doyle. Did it at least cross her mind? Were there any fleeting thoughts that maybe he couldn't possibly be as bad as the profile suggested? Is it possible she, even for just a moment, just saw him as the father of Declan and not the terrorist and killer?

I guess she lied for my own benefit. That lie, after all, helped the rest of that conversation flourish. And it gave us a foundation on which to build trust and the beginning of what could have been a friendship.

"Is he still alive? – your father."

"North Dakota does not have the death penalty. And the answer to your next question is no, I've never been to see him. He writes from time to time, but… I haven't opened any of the letters."

"Do you keep them?"

"Yes. Is that wrong?"

"I don't think there is any right or wrong when it comes to that."

My mind brings forth an image of the ring she kept from her time with Doyle. I can't help but think she was searching for an answer or reassurance of some kind when she asked me about those letters. Surely she must have thought of Doyle during that conversation. Maybe she felt guilt over keeping a memento given to her by a terrorist, just as I feel waves of guilt for keeping the letters from a serial killer. Maybe she was looking to hear from someone that it wasn't wrong for her to keep that ring.

It seems she, of all those I've ever met, could understand my relationship with my father best. I grew up, unbeknownst to me at the time, with a killer for a father. She knowingly lived with a killer. She slept with him, made him fall in love with her, and found her heart stolen by his son.

I guess we had more in common than I thought – we both had to live with killers, and both chose to keep reminders of those times. She kept that ring for all those years, despite the sort of man he was and the terrible things he'd done. I keep those letters, despite the kind of man my father was and the terrible things he did.

I slip my hands back into my pockets and give a small nod to the headstone. It's a nod of gratefulness for all she did for me. It's certainly not what Garcia had in mind when she suggested this visit, but it's done wonders all the same. Some things are clearer now that I've had time to really think about them.

I breathe in deeply and close my eyes for a moment as a decision finalizes in my mind. I'm going to go to work and complete the paperwork sitting in the drawer in my desk to officially request a transfer. Agent Hotchner will understand, and so will Rossi. As for the others – it doesn't really matter. They lost Agent Jareau due to politics and I was essentially a bit more than a warm body to fill that void. Now that she's back, there's little reason for me to stick around, especially since I feel like I never really fit anyway. Besides, there's no way in hell I could replace Prentiss.

If nothing else, my short time with Prentiss has given me a lot to think about, and shown me that the BAU isn't for me. At least, not yet. There's plenty of time in my career to find a team that I can grow to call my family, but for now I need to leave them to deal with this loss together, without my prying eyes.

Have comments? Even short ones? I'd love to hear 'em...