Thank you for the lovely response to the last chapter! It was lovely to read all your reviews.

Hopefully this one answers the questions that popped up after the first instalment. And if you have more after this one...well you never know when they might be answered - there are still more conversations to come, after all!

Happy reading =)

"Suddenly this is all too hard. I am tired of putting up walls. I want someone with the strength – and the honesty – to break them down." – Jodi Picoult

I find myself blinking in disbelief, still unable to process the unexpected news that had come two days ago. Between work and volunteer commitments I hadn't really had a chance to dwell on his death. At least, not until now. I rest my elbows on the desk, and lean my head onto my clasped hands. It's been 17 or so years since our divorce was finalized, even longer since I'd seen him last, and yet I'm still overcome with memories of our time together. I remember everything from that boyish grin he'd flashed on the day we met, to our wedding and how he'd spoken so eloquently about our love and our partnership and what it meant to him. I can't help but smile as I recall the first time he introduced me as his wife, and the first time I introduced him as my husband.

I let out a sad sigh and close my eyes as less fond memories begin to surface. We used to fight and argue, screaming at each other until we were blue in the face, only to have to attend an event together the next day and play the happy couple. He'd spend weeks, sometimes months, travelling the globe to build up his business, leaving me alone to explain his absence. Then I'd gotten pregnant and I foolishly thought things would change, but we grew even further apart, and I was left with a daughter to raise by myself. He checked in just often enough for Emily to be aware of who he was and to miss him while he was gone, but he wasn't the father or husband she and I needed. We'd stayed married in deference to our respective careers, but our marriage had been over long before our divorce was finalized.

I pull open a drawer of my desk and dig to the bottom of it, pulling out a photo album and a small jewelry bag. Opening the bag gently, I empty the contents onto my palm and look at the rings I'd once worn on my finger. I'd offered to return them, but I'd never heard back from Harrison, so I'd kept them hidden away in the drawer instead. I play with them for just a moment before sliding them back into the small bag and turning my attention to the photo album.

The pictures are snapshots of our story together, showing the moments when we were truly happy, and the moments when we were merely pretending. Our engagement and wedding are documented well, with many pictures showing us as the happy and very much in love couple we were then. There are a few pictures from events and dinners we'd attended in the following year, and then a few from the year before Emily was born. By the time I reach Emily's birth, it's clear we had been spending more time apart than together – pictures of the two of us together are few and far between, with the sparingly few showcasing our growing distance from each other.

I stop when I see a picture of me holding Emily as a newborn, with my father's arm around me. My gaze lingers first on my father's eyes, where I see nothing but pride and love, and I feel a pang of sadness, wishing desperately for him to be with me right now. My eyes shift to the small bundle in my arms and I instantly remember that feeling of overwhelming joy that had washed over me the minute they placed her in my arms. I was absolutely exhausted and could barely keep my eyes open, but the minute I felt her in my arms, I couldn't stop staring at her. I remember being overwhelmed by the sheer force of love I felt for her. Then she'd opened her eyes, and it took my breath away. They were the darkest brown I'd ever seen, and seemed to be looking right into my soul. Through my tears, I'd whispered promises to her and apologized that her father wasn't there to meet her.

I close the album abruptly as memories of his first reaction to Emily surface. He'd looked so…enchanted by her, and I remember thinking that maybe things would be better after all. He'd kissed her, and kissed me, and promised that we'd be a family. I believed him, foolishly. And then it had started to crumble. His trips got longer, our arguments got more heated, and as Emily grew older her resentment of him grew too.

I'm startled from my memories when my phone begins to ring.

"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?"

I blink in surprise and feel my eyes widen. "I think that's a question you should be asking, Emily," I answer diplomatically. There's no way I was going to interfere in my daughter's relationship; I'd caused enough damage in her life as it is.

Derek stays quiet, and I begin to wonder just what exactly is going on. By all accounts, Emily had been working hard at being more open, and repairing our fractured relationship. But if Derek doesn't know anything about Harrison, then she hasn't told him about that part of her life. And if she hasn't told him, then she's likely reverted back to her old habits of compartmentalization.

"She hasn't told you anything, has she?" I say sadly.

"Just that he passed away."

"I see."

"Can you tell me anything else? I…I need to be able to help her."

"It's not my information to tell," I answer carefully.

"She's acting like nothing happened," he protests quickly, his voice tinged with worry. "She's slipping back into her old habits. She's boxed it all away and is pretending that it doesn't affect her."

I swallow the lump in my throat as his words sink in. He was terrified of losing her again. I was terrified of losing her again. We'd come so far- She'd come so far. I can't lose her, not now that I've just gotten my daughter back.

"I'll talk to her," I say decidedly. She needs her mother, and for once, that's something that I can give her.

I hear it ring once…twice…three times before she picks up.

"Hello?"

"Emily, it's your mother."

"Oh, hi Mom. How are you?" I can tell she's surprised, but not put off by my call. A far cry from the clipped tone she used to adopt when I called.

"I'm fine. How are you?"

"I'm fine. Just got back into my office – I had a class."

"How's that going?" I ask, trying to put off bringing up the real reason I'd called.

"I'm settling into it. It's…different."

"But you're enjoying it?"

"Yes, it's just what I needed. Did you need something?"

"Oh, right. Um, I can call back later…"

I hear her pause and can just picture the skeptical expression at my use of a filler word like "um". "No, it's fine. What's up?" she finally says.

"I just…" I begin, but suddenly find words failing me.

"Mom…" she says worryingly. "What is it? What's wrong?"

I take a deep breath before answering. "Your father died." I hear no reply and I briefly wonder if the call had disconnected. "Emily? Are you still there?"

"Yeah," she breathes. "I'm still here. I have to go though. I have a class," she says quickly.

"Are you all right?" I ask before she can hang up, recognizing that all too familiar detached tone.

"I'm fine."

"Okay," I say slowly. "I'll give you a call later."

"Okay."

"Bye, Em."

"Bye."

"Mom," Emily says, blinking in surprise as she opens the door. "What are you doing here?"

"Checking on my daughter," I say pointedly. "Are you going to invite me in?"

"How did you know I was here?" she asks in confusion.

"Surely after all of these years you know that's a foolish question, Em," I say with a small smile. She frowns further in confusion. "Derek called me," I explain as I step past her into the house and look around. While it was quite obviously Derek's home, there was evidence of Emily too.

Her eyes flare lightly with anger and her mouth opens, but I beat her to the punch. "Don't be angry with him, Emily. He's terrified you're slipping away from him again." She blinks in surprise and her expression softens. "He's worried you're disappearing into your own head again and trying to handle things on your own."

"But I'm not-"

"You're doing exactly that, Em. You're shutting everyone out."

"No, I'm not," she argues. "There's nothing to deal with. Harrison's dead. Doesn't make any difference to me. It's not like it changes anything."

I shake my head. "Emily," I say sadly. "You can't pretend that it isn't affecting you."

"I'm not pretending, because it isn't affecting me."

"My chat with Derek says otherwise."

"Well he doesn't know me as well as he thinks he does."

"Or he knows you better than you realize."

"I'm sorry you came all this way, Mother, but I'm fine."

"Oh, so we're back to "Mother" now?"

She rolls her eyes. "Old habits die hard."

"Emily," I say sadly. "It's okay to care."

"I told you, I'm fine," she says with a sigh. "It's not a big deal."

"He was your father."

"No, he wasn't," she protests immediately. "I don't have a father."

"Everyone has a father," I counter.

She glares at me. "Biologically speaking, maybe," she says flippantly.

"There was a time that he loved you, you know." She looks away from me, avoiding my gaze. "Do you remember when he took you horseback riding for the first time?"

"Shane took me," she says, her brow furrowing.

"No," I say softly. "It was your father."

"No," she says stubbornly. "It was Shane."

I look at her sadly before reaching into my bag and pulling out the photo album I'd been looking at earlier. I flip through the pages until I find the one depicting her at 6 years old, astride a horse, with Harrison standing proudly next to her. Each of them wears a wide smile, and their eyes are alight with excitement. I hand the album to her and watch as she scans the picture.

"It was him?" she murmurs.

"Yes," I say gently.

"Still, one day doesn't make up for the years of emotional abuse he put me and you through," she says, reaffirming her stance.

"No, it doesn't. But I'm not asking you to forgive him."

"Then what are you asking?"

"Why are you so afraid of letting yourself mourn his death?"

"I'm not afraid of mourning his death, I just don't need to mourn his death."

I take a deep breath. This is where I start to take down her walls. And if by the end she hates me for it, then so be it, because I know she can't keep ignoring this.

"Then why are you compartmentalizing again? Why are you pushing me away after all these months of trying to fix our relationship? Why are you pushing the man you love away? You can keep saying that it doesn't matter, that he wasn't your father, and that you don't care, but I've got news for you Emily. It does matter, he was your father, and you do care."

She's stunned by my words and stares blankly at me for a moment before she can find her words. "What do you want from me?" she asks quietly.

"I want you to grieve, Emily."

"You want me to mourn that bastard?" she says with a scoff. "I don't give a shit that he's dead."

"I think we both know that's not true, Emily," I reply evenly.

"I DON'T!" she yells forcefully. I can't help the small sigh of relief from escaping. Finally, she was showing some emotion. "I'm not going to his funeral. He doesn't deserve to be missed," she says bitterly. "That bastard never did anything for me."

"You loved him once, Emily."

"Between the two of you, it's a miracle I learned what love is," she spits back angrily. I can't help but wince at her words. The fact that she's right eats at my soul, but I know she needs this release. "He never told me he loved me. Not once. What kind of parent does that? What kind of parent never tells their kid that they love them?" she continues.

Tears are making their way down her face now, and I watch as she brings her hand to cover her mouth briefly as she chokes on small sobs, the pent up emotion finally bubbling over. She lowers her head and moves her hand to cover her eyes, sobs still wracking her body as she fights to hide her grief.

"Why didn't he love me?" she whispers as her hands shift once more, this time to hold her head.

I feel tears form in my own eyes and I step forward quickly, wrapping my arms around her tightly. She returns the embrace, gripping me tightly as though she is holding on for dear life.

"What did I do wrong?" she mumbles into my shirt and I feel a fresh wave of sobs wrack her body. The grief and pain is tumbling out of her, and she's overwhelmed by it all.

"Nothing, Emmy. You didn't do anything wrong," I say soothingly. "You were such a beautiful little girl. He was a fool not to see and appreciate what was right in front of him."

She doesn't reply, but I feel her hold tighten on me.

"But it's okay to care, Em. He may have been a bastard, and a jerk, and an all-around asshole, but he was still your father. You didn't always feel this way about him, and it's okay to grieve losing the man that was kind to you, and made you smile."

At my words yet another fresh wave of sobs overwhelms her. I hear her whimper quietly as I guide us slowly to the couch and we sit. She leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder, as her tears finally begin to slow and her breathing returns to a regular rhythm after a few minutes.

"You don't have to hold everything in anymore, Emmy. You have people who love you and are here for you," I say softly as I rub her shoulder soothingly.

"Thank you," she says quietly after a few more minutes, breaking the silence that had taken hold. "I love you, Mom."

I smile and feel a few tears form in my eyes once more. The genuineness and emotion behind her words hits me right in the heart as I realize what I could have lost – what I almost lost.

"I love you too, Emily," I reply while silently swearing that I'll never let myself lose her. She may have lost the man partly responsible for her very existence, but I swear she won't lose me. Not if I can help it.

So...how are we feeling about that? Did it tug a little at the heart-strings? Sufficiently answer any questions you had? Do let me know, reviews are just so wonderful to read!

I will admit, this one was a bit exhausting to write - but then again all the emotional scenes tend to be. Still working hard on more conversations and a variety of things.

More to come, my friends, I promise.