My thanks for your kind and encouraging words in your reviews of last chapter. Your support is much appreciated.

This one gives us a tiny glimpse into Professor Prentiss.

Happy reading =)

"Ah! There is nothing like staying at home, for real comfort." – Jane Austen

I raise my hand and knock twice on the closed office door.

"Come on in!" I hear her call out, and so I open the door and step into the office. "Dave, hi," she says with a warm smile as she looks up from her paperwork.

"Paperwork on your first day? That just seems cruel," I remark as I close the door behind me.

"It's my own fault. I put off finishing it. It's actually reports from my last case with you guys."

"You're kidding. That was days ago."

"Wish I was. Apparently firing your weapon and knocking a serial killer on his ass requires several different forms completed and signed in triplicate, of course."

"When did the job stop being about catching killers and become about documenting our every action to try and catch the killers?" I muse aloud.

"You're the one who was around when it all started, you tell me."

"Did you have to file this much paperwork with the CIA?"

"I could tell you…but I'd have to kill you then," she deadpans.

"You're a real comedian, you know that?" I reply with an arched eyebrow. "But did you?"

She laughs. "No, this much paperwork is definitely a perk of working for the Bureau. Then again, the CIA was never much into documenting their activities…"

"What about Interpol?"

She shrugs. "Not a ton. Although if I'd taken Clyde up on his offer I bet I'd be drowning in paperwork."

"I can only imagine. I bet you're glad to have dodged that bullet."

"Well, judging by the paperwork building up on my desk, I'm not sure I dodged it entirely…"

"Well, if Hotch can consistently stay afloat, then I'm sure you'll figure out a system."

"Hopefully. So what's up?"

"Two things. One, I saw your lecture this morning," I say with a grin as I watch her eyes widen in shock and a hint of panic, if I'm not mistaken. "Well done, Professor Prentiss. That was one packed lecture hall."

"Thanks," she mumbles in reply.

"And two, I came to deliver my gift."

"Gift?" she asks in confusion.

"You're headed in a new direction in your career, and that deserves a gift," I explain as I hand over the small package I'd wrapped up.

"You didn't have to get me anything, Dave," she says. "But since you apparently audited my class this morning, I think this gift will go a long way to helping me forgive you."

"Oh, relax, bella. I already said you did very well this morning. It was a riveting hour and a half, I assure you," I say honestly. "Now open it up," I encourage, gesturing with my hands.

I watch in amusement as she tears carefully into the package and reveals a package of red pens. A puzzled expression forms on her face and lingers for a moment as she works through my reasoning. I can see the moment the pieces fall into place when a grin spreads on her face.

"Red pens. For marking?"

"You got it. A professor always needs a plentiful supply of those. May you be as ruthless with them as my first professor in college. I got my first paper back and there were so many red marks on it, I actually wondered if he'd dipped it in red ink!"

She chuckles. "Thanks, Dave. It's very sweet of you," she says, getting up and pressing a quick kiss to my cheek.

"Of course," I reply with a smile. "So how did your first lecture go for you?"

"Good, I think," she says, sitting back down. "I mean, it felt a bit weird standing up in front of all those cadets and spouting off about basic profiling, but I think it's something I could get used to."

"Glad to hear it," I say genuinely. And it's true; I am very glad to hear it. The poor woman deserves to have a job that isn't going to threaten her life daily, and one that she feels useful and alive in. "My first few guest lectures were terrible for me. I thought for sure the students were going to leave out of boredom or question every single thing I said."

"Did they?"

"No, they listened with rapt attention and asked thoughtful questions. Either I was really good, or my reputation helped out a little bit with that."

"I guess I've got a similar thing going with my reputation. I overheard a few of the cadets talking about how I was "that agent with the sketchy past who died and came back to life" and that a few of their friends had turned up to see me, despite not being in my class."

"Looks like you've usurped me from my throne of most intriguing professor."

"Terribly sorry about that. If it's any consolation, I'd rather not hold that title…"

"Trust me, there are worse things you could be. I say embrace it. If you've got an engaged audience, mould them into the next generation of profilers. God knows this world will need them."

"I suppose," she says with a half-hearted smile.

"Well they better be good – they've got a world-class profiler instructing them!"

"And they didn't when you were lecturing?"

"I'm just an old man. You're young, and have that certain…mystery and intrigue about you. I expect great things from you, bella."

"Mystery and intrigue because I was declared dead and then reappeared, very much alive, seven months later…"

"Nonsense! You have a certain...quality about you. It draws people in. Just ask Morgan," I say with a wink.

"Have you been drinking?" she asks with an arched eyebrow.

"I wish. Although, this is as good an occasion as any to celebrate, which reminds me – I've got your other gift here," I say handing over a heavier package.

"Dave, you've already been too kind. You really didn't need to get me anything."

"Just open it."

She tears off the wrapping paper to find the expensive bottle of whiskey from my collection she'd been eyeing for years. Her eyes widen in recognition.

"Dave, this is too much-"

"Nonsense."

"No, this is worth-"

"It doesn't matter what it's worth. It's my gift to you, Emily. May your new endeavours bring you happiness and peace, and may you inspire a new generation of profilers to be just as skilled and dedicated as you."

"Thank you," she says sincerely, offering a smile. "You and I will share the first drinks from this when we're not working."

"It's a date."

We lapse into a brief silence as our conversation reaches its natural end. But there's one more thing I wanted to ask about.

"Can I ask you something, Emily?"

Her gaze narrows at my request, no doubt deducing the more serious nature of this line of questioning. "Okay…"

"Why did you stay?"

"Can you just imagine trying to deal with Garcia if I'd moved to London?" she says with a forced chuckle.

"Emily," I scold lightly, knowing she's playing her old game of dancing around giving an honest answer. She holds my gaze and blinks a few times before closing her eyes and exhaling loudly. She doesn't respond and so I change tactics. "How's your mother doing?"

"My mother?"

"Yes, the illustrious Ambassador Prentiss. How is she?"

"She's fine. She's consulting with the, uh…French government, I think, on a few things."

"Not in an ambassadorial role?"

"No, she's without assignment for now. She's just helping out here and there, mentoring a few college students, if I recall correctly."

"Oh, I bet she just loves that," I say with a knowing smile.

"Actually, she says she's enjoying having a bit of free time and staying put in one place. Gives her a chance to build up the relationships she'd put on the back burner for her career."

"Including yours, I assume?"

"Yes," she says plainly with a nod.

"How's that going?"

"I know what you're doing, Dave."

"You're not obligated to answer, Emily. This is your office, and I'm not your superior anymore, so you can kick me out anytime…"

She gives me a long, hard look and seems to hem and haw before replying. "It's going well, surprisingly."

"Why is it so surprising?"

"She and I haven't seen eye to eye on anything since I was 12, and even that was a one-off."

"Why 12?"

"That's when I changed my name."

My eyes widen in surprise. That was definitely not something I expected to hear. "You changed your name?"

She nods. "I took my mother's name."

"I see."

"Is that surprising?"

"A little," I admit. "Why'd you change your name? I would think with the difficult relationship you and your mother had in your childhood, it wouldn't be too high on your list of priorities."

"It was the lesser of two evils," she explains. "My father…was my father in blood only. As much as my mother and I didn't agree and fought fiercely over just about everything, I still loved her, and she cared enough about me to make sure I was still alive…through one way or another. My father though…I hated him at the time."

"And now?"

"Now I'm indifferent. I couldn't care less what he's doing, where he is, or if he wants to see me," she says with no apparent emotion in her voice.

"He abandoned you," I deduce.

"That would require him having been there in the first place," she counters. "I saw him a handful of times throughout my childhood, and only ever at functions or dinner parties. Just long enough for a picture to be taken of the young and ambitious Harrison Theodore Campbell III's family."

"I'm sorry," I say, a bit surprised at her reaction. I expected to see fire in her eyes, but they remain neutral. She really has let him go, it seems.

"Don't be. My life has been much better without him around. It really was for the best. I guess things have a funny way of working out like that," she says with a slight shrug.

"Why'd you stay, Emily?" I ask again softly, leaning forward. She bites her lip gently and seems to be debating with herself on whether to answer.

"I was tired of being distant," she says finally with a sigh, standing up from her chair and moving across the office to begin to unload the books from the numerous boxes on the floor onto the shelves lining the wall. "I'd spent most of my life shoving down my feelings and acting a certain way to please others. I stayed distant from everything and everyone, building up those walls and organizing everything neatly into boxes and trying to forget about them. And it worked for a very long time. It's what made me good at my job. But when I was in Paris away from all of you, I broke."

I hear the almost undetectable warbling in her voice and find myself watching her as she wraps her arms around herself, just as she'd done those weeks ago in my study. It's not as though she's broken now – more that she's recalling painful memories, which, as sad as it sounds, is a huge step forward for her.

"I couldn't process that not only was Lauren Reynolds dead, but so was Emily Prentiss. I'd lost everything I'd worked to build up in my life after Doyle – my life, my career, my friends, but most importantly I lost my family. It had been ripped from me, and it broke me completely because I never expected to live when I went after Doyle. I never expected to have to deal with anything beyond him.

"I began to feel everything that I'd tried so hard for so long not to. I missed you all terribly, and I felt such regret leaving you all with the bitter taste of my betrayal in your mouths. I didn't regret what I'd done and I still don't – I would do it again in a heartbeat if it kept you all safe – but I did regret that the people I trusted and respected most in the world wouldn't return that trust and respect because of my past.

"Losing all of that…" she trails off before correcting herself, "losing my family…it changed me."

"How?" I prompt when she falls silent, her mind seemingly having drifted miles away.

"I wanted to stop being so cold and distant. I wanted to be able feel and not have to compartmentalize everything."

"So when you came back you bent over backwards to fix everything with us, but it didn't feel the same because you weren't detached from it all."

"Well, that kind of makes me sound like a heartless bitch, which I wasn't, I swear. I did feel things before, just…not as strongly and only when it was convenient."

"I know. But in essence..."

"Yes. It didn't feel the same, and I knew I had to make a change."

"So why stay? Why not go to London and take the Interpol job? It was quite a promotion."

"It was never about the job, I would hope you know me well enough to know that," she says pointedly. I nod in response. "You were right when you said I could have that change that I needed without leaving the continent – I just hadn't considered it. I just assumed I needed another clean break because that's how it's always been for me." She sighs heavily and pauses her actions before turning to meet my gaze. "I stayed because I realized I didn't want to leave you guys."

I smile at her words and feel a warmth spread through chest. Emily Prentiss wasn't one to spout off empty words, so I know she has meant every word of her explanation. It's a huge step for her to have shared this with me, and an even larger one for her to have come to the realization that we're sticking around, and accept her for who she is – faults and all.

As always, if you have the time I'd love to hear your thoughts on this one, even if it's just a few words.

More conversations to come...I'm not quite done with this story just yet.