Sincere thanks, as always, for the feedback on the last chapter. I'm happy to hear you all enjoyed it!

Happy reading =)

"Sometimes it seems safer to hold it all in, where the only person who can judge is yourself." – Sarah Dessen

I lean back in my chair and stretch my muscles before rubbing my strained eyes. After jumping straight from case to case in the recent weeks without any real time to file paperwork in between, the mountains of files, reports, and forms on our desks had steadily grown. It had finally reached a level that Reid described as preposterous, Penelope had a far more fruitful description that probably shouldn't be repeated, and Rossi couldn't even find words in English to describe it. When Hotch had realized just how many cases were still waiting for reports and forms, he'd gone straight to Strauss to get a week off of active case rotation for the team. Always one to follow procedure, the section chief was all too happy to oblige, and so we'd been given a week to clear off those mountains of paperwork that had built up.

I briefly entertain the thought of going for a wander around the bullpen, but Hotch's threat of permanent desk duty if we didn't get our paperwork all completed and submitted convinces me to stay put in my office. Taking in a deep breath and exhaling it quickly, I grab another folder from the pile and open it up. Ah, finally! One that I'd remembered to start after the case had wrapped up. Just missing the firearm discharge form, it seems. I pull up the form on the computer and fill in my information before printing it off and grabbing a pen to sign it. But just as I'm about to put the pen to paper, I hear my cell phone begin to ring. I frown when I don't see it on my desk. I begin to shove files out of the way, feeling around for the phone. Finally, I find it hiding underneath my stack of completed consults to be submitted to Hotch. I grin when I see the name flashing on the call display.

"Hey, Princess," I say in greeting, leaning back in my chair to relax for a few minutes.

"Hey. How's day three of paperwork hell?"

"I think I've completed more reports and forms today than I have in my entire Bureau career," I grouse.

"Wow. So you managed to finish up 3 whole reports?" she teases.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, Princess. I've seen your desk – you've got more paperwork piled up than I do. And trust me, that's saying something."

"Maybe, but most of it is marking, and that's easy."

"Remind me why I let you leave me all alone here at the BAU? Everyone else here seems to tolerate paperwork. I swear JJ even enjoys it sometimes."

She lets out a half-hearted chuckle. "Paperwork is what keeps the world a-turning, my friend. The sooner you embrace that, the sooner you'll start to hate it a little bit less."

"Maybe so, but I don't have to like it," I grumble and hear her chuckle again. "How's your day been?"

"Okay," she answers, and I can just picture her shrugging. "My mother called earlier, but that's about the most exciting my day's been. I've just finished up most of my consults for the week, and I figured I'd head over to your place after my class at 3."

"Sounds good. I'm hoping to get out of here by 5…but that probably means not until 6. Want me to pick up dinner on the way home?"

"No, I think I'll cook something tonight. We've been eating out way too much lately."

"Well who am I to argue with a home-cooked meal? Need me to pick up anything?"

"No, I should be good."

"Okay. Do me a favour and feed Clooney?"

"Of course."

"Thanks, Princess. You're the best."

"Yeah, I'll see you later, Derek."

"Yeah, see you later," I say before ending the call. I briefly wonder if she's all right when I realize she hadn't sounded quite like herself. I dismiss the thought and attribute it to my paperwork-induced haze. I let out a groan of frustration before leaning forward once more to tackle the still large and rather ominous mountain of paperwork currently calling my desk home.

"Em?" I call out as I close the door behind me. Clooney saunters into the entranceway to greet me, and I squat down to give him a scratch behind the ears, only to find he's rolled over onto his back. I laugh at his antics and give him some attention. "Hey buddy, where's Em at?" I ask, looking directly into his eyes.

He jumps up and saunters down the hall, heading toward the kitchen. Ah, I should have known. I drop my bag and keys and follow him into the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively.

"Mm, smells fantastic," I say, coming up behind Emily and snaking my arms around her waist. "What is it?" I ask as I peek over her shoulder at the simmering pot.

"Moroccan chicken stew," she answers. "I wasn't sure if you'd like it."

"Well, I've never had it, but it smells wonderful, so I'm betting I'm gonna love it."

"Hopefully," she says with a shrug.

"Hey," I say, lifting the spoon from her hand and placing it on the counter before turning her around in my arms. "I didn't get a proper hello."

She smiles and tips her head back as she wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me down to kiss me passionately. "Hi," she whispers as she pulls away.

"I missed you today."

"You mean you missed being able to use me as a distraction from your paperwork," she corrects with an arched brow. She turns back around and continues to stir the stew, adding a touch of seasoning every so often after a quick taste.

"Maybe," I concede. "How was your class?" I ask, holding her tightly and enjoying the feel of her in my arms.

"Good."

"That's it?" I say skeptically, pulling back slightly and loosening my hold on her. Usually she's got a bit more to share.

"Sorry," she says with a shrug. "Just a boring day, I guess."

My gaze narrows briefly as she avoids elaborating. I shake off my worry. She'd transferred out of the BAU so she could have days like today – boring and completely non-life-threatening – and be able to be herself.

"Yeah, I guess. How's your mom?"

"My mom?"

"You mentioned she called earlier," I remind her as I begin to kiss my way down from her cheek to her neck.

"Oh, right. Yeah she's fine."

"That's it? She called you to tell you she's fine?" I remark skeptically. No way would Elizabeth Prentiss make a social call during work hours.

"No," she admits slowly. "She just wanted to let me know that Harrison Theodore Campbell III died."

"Oh," I say slowly. "Who's that?" I ask, not recognizing the name. But that's not entirely surprising since there are a lot of people from her past that I don't know about.

"My father," she says plainly, still focusing on the stew. "Can you grab a couple bowls and put some of that couscous in them?" she asks, pointing to bowl on the counter.

My eyes widen at her unconcerned response and I cease my actions. She just told me her father had died, and she'd said it like it wasn't a big deal. Like it wasn't the man who was partially responsible for her very existence, and was instead a random stranger from the street.

"Your dad?" I ask in confirmation, half wondering if I'd just misheard her.

"My father," she says, her tone seeming like she's correcting me. My gaze narrows as I take in her body language. She's completely uninterested. It's like she doesn't care.

"I'm sorry," I say uncertainly.

"No need to be," she says with a shrug. "The stew's ready, can you grab those bowls?"

I stare at her, dumbfounded, and unable to believe she's shaken off the death of her father so easily.

"Oh, never mind, I'll grab them," she says, shrugging out of my hold and moving toward the cupboard.

I watch her movements and find myself unable to comprehend how she's so okay with this news. How she's able to continue functioning. I was devastated when my father died. Granted, I was just a kid, but still, he was a huge part of my life and it was like losing a part of myself when he died. Suddenly it hits me. Growing up, Emily hadn't been particularly close with her mother. Even in her adult life it had taken her "dying" and subsequently coming back to bring them back together, and it still was far from a healthy relationship. So who's to say she was close with her father?

"Come on, Derek," Emily says, holding out a bowl to me. "Let's eat."

"Right," I say slowly, my mind still frantically trying to piece together how she is fine with this.

We make our way to the kitchen table and sit down, Clooney customarily parking himself beneath our chairs, hoping for scraps to fall his way, but not outwardly begging. We sit in silence for a few minutes, with Emily enjoying her meal, and me staring at her in concern.

"So, did you end up making any headway on your mountain of paperwork?" she asks, looking up from her bowl.

Did she really just ask me about my day? Did she just completely ignore the fact that her father had died? I don't care how big the rift between them had been, he was her father. That's not something you can just deny and ignore.

"Em," I say softly. "Come on. Let's talk about this."

"About what?" she asks, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"About what?!" I echo her words incredulously. "Emily, you just told me your father died."

"Oh, that's what you wanted to talk about?"

"You don't?"

She shrugs. "I hadn't spoken to him in years, Derek. And he hadn't been my father for quite some time."

"Hadn't been your father? What does that mean?"

She looks down to her dinner and apparently chooses not to answer.

"Emily," I implore. "Come on. You can't just bottle all those feelings up. Talk to me."

"I don't really care that he's dead, to be honest, Derek."

"He was your father, Em."

She shrugs, but doesn't seem at all upset. "I don't want to talk about him, so let's drop it, okay?"

"Are you serious?" I ask, still not able to believe it.

"Yes," she says calmly. Too calmly.

"Em, don't shut me out. Don't shove this all into boxes and lock it away. It'll eat at you."

"Derek," she says wearily. "Please, just drop it. He's not worth any conversation."

I blink in surprise. Not worth any conversation? What the hell had he done to get her compartmentalizing again? She'd been making a real effort to be more open with everyone, me especially, and yet now she's acting as though it's no big deal.

I let out a sigh. I'd drop it…for now. "So any of those cadets seem like they might be able to replace us old folks at the BAU one day?" I ask, reluctantly changing the topic, but still wondering if I was losing the Emily that had slowly begun to heal.

"Her father died?" Baby Girl says, her eyes wide with shock. "And she was totally okay with it?"

"Well, she's definitely not okay with it. She's boxed it all up and filed it away. That was two days ago, and she still hasn't shown any emotion at all."

"She trying to reclaim her compartmentalization crown?"

"I guess so," I answer sadly. "I mean, I get that they weren't the closest, but he was still her father, you know?"

Garcia nods. "He didn't like…murder someone, did he?"

"Hell if I know. She's never even mentioned him."

"You're right…come to think of it I've never heard anything about Papa Prentiss either."

"Papa Campbell," I correct, remembering the name she'd mentioned.

"Campbell? But…oh, she took her mother's name?"

"She could've been born under her mother's name," I point out.

"True. Hmm, give me a minute to take a little look-see-"

"Baby Girl, don't."

"But Derek-"

"This is our friend we're talking about," I say softly, interrupting her. "We've already had to dig into her past once and look at her secrets. I think she deserves some privacy now. If she wanted us to know, she'd tell us. You know as well as I do that she's been working on being more open."

"And bless her apparently heavily bandaged heart for doing so. But aren't you breaking your own little rule by telling me all of this? Not that I'm complaining, mind you…"

"I told you because I'm worried about her, and I needed to know if I was being completely unrealistic."

"You aren't. There's something hinky about her not reacting at all to it. You're right to be worried, my Chocolate Adonis."

"Okay. But no doing your thing, okay?"

Garcia lets out a heavy sigh. "Fine, but if she continues to keep this all bottled up, I'm going to figure out what about this guy has Emster so upset she isn't upset."

"And I'll be right there with you," I promise before getting up to head back to my office.

"Derek?" she calls out softly after a moment.

"Yeah?" I answer as I turn around in the doorway.

"You really don't know what's going on with her?"

I shake my head sadly. "No."

She pauses to think for a second. "Maybe give her mom a call? I bet the Ambassador might have some insight for you on Em's dad. I mean, it can't hurt, right?"

"I guess not," I say, realizing Garcia is right. Elizabeth is definitely a resource I should be using, especially since the two of them have been working at repairing their relationship - she'll be more likely to help now. "I'll give her a call tonight and see if I can get some answers."

"Yeah, okay," she says with a nod. "Take care of our girl," she adds softly.

"Always, Penelope," I assure her.

"Hello?"

"Ambassador Prentiss? It's Derek Morgan, from the BAU."

"Please, call me Elizabeth. You're dating my daughter, and I haven't been an ambassador for a few months now."

"Right, sorry. Listen, I need to ask you something about Emily."

"What is it?"

"What can you tell me about her father?"

So...what say you? Intrigued? Irritated? Amused? Sad? Jonesing for more? Let me know - I love reading your thoughts and impressions in reviews. I appreciate each and every single one.

Until next time, friends. :)