This one is for all your lovely folks who wanted to see a little more Professor Prentiss.

Happy reading =)

"Teachers open the door, but you must enter by yourself." – Chinese Proverb

"Professor Prentiss?" I say as I knock on the open door to her office.

"Come on in," she calls out as she motions with her hand to enter, not lifting her gaze from the file in front of her. "Just give me a minute to finish this thought."

I nod and take a seat in front of her desk, dropping my bag to the floor. Since I have to wait anyway, I take the opportunity to glance around her office. It's not overly large, but appears to hold a large amount of books, files, and file boxes, as well as a large desk and smaller table and chairs. The walls are painted a deep blue, and I recall reading that psychologically, the colour is linked to loyalty, intelligence, wisdom, and trust, and is said to promote clarity of thought. Of course it's also said to represent distance and frigidity, so I guess I can't really put much stock in colour psychology.

On the wall across from her desk are built-in shelves, lined with books covering a wide array of topics and subjects, ranging from child and adolescent psychology to forensic investigation techniques to dictionaries in a few languages. Behind her desk are framed degrees from Yale and Georgetown, as well as a large whiteboard with various pictures stuck to it, and accompanying notes scribbled out beside them – likely from a case she's consulting on, or maybe preparing to lecture on. The wall across from the door has a small table and two chairs set up next to it, with piles of cases and books stacked on them. Above them on the wall is a map of the world carved out of wood, likely by hand if the slight lack of precision is any indication. The desk itself is littered with case files, piles of assignments and exams, but there is a sense of order about it. A few picture frames sit in the corner, and an oversized mug proclaiming "World's Best Instructor" sits in front of them, and a laptop sits open just to the left of the file she's working on.

"Okay, sorry Miss Gannon, I had to get the rest of that thought out before I lost it," she apologizes. "What can I do for you?"

I hear her question but am too impressed that she knows my name to form any response.

She smirks. "Don't be so surprised. My mother is a career politician, so putting names to faces is something I've been doing since I was old enough to talk," she says, easily pinpointing the reason for my inability to form a response.

"Oh," I say. Still, it was impressive that of the likely hundreds of cadets and agents she deals with, she remembered my name.

"So what can I do for you?"

"Right, uh, well I was just-" I cringe inwardly when I realize I'm stumbling over my words. Yes, the woman is something of a legend in these halls, what with having died and then inexplicably somehow returned months later. And yes, her reputation and long list of accolades are well known among us students. And yes, if the rumours are to be believed, we only know a fraction of what she's done over the years… But she's still our instructor, and has shown time and time again that we can go to her with questions.

She smiles encouragingly and I let out a heavy exhale. "Can I ask you something?"

Her eyes twinkle with amusement. "I believe you just did, but I'll allow another."

I offer a half-smile before beginning to chew my bottom lip. "Was being an agent rewarding?" I ask finally.

"Is,"she corrects. "I'm still an active agent with the BAU, I just split my time between here and there."

"Right," I say, my eyes widening as I worry that I've offended her. "Is being an agent rewarding?"

She scrutinizes me for a moment before speaking. "Are you reconsidering your choice in career?"

I should have known she'd see right through me – she's spent years of her life reading behaviour. "Maybe," I hedge. "I'm just…" I trail off as I try to find the correct end to my thought. "I'm not sure it's for me."

"Well why did you apply to the Academy?"

I shift in my chair. "I spent a lot of my childhood being bullied," I admit, but painstakingly avoid eye contact. "And the way I see it, these acts of violence that we study and see every single day are just a different form of bullying. It's still taking advantage of someone else."

"Ah, so you're battling people's bullies for them."

"Well, no," I say with a frown. "It sounds bad when you say it like that. It's more like…I'm fighting in their corner and helping them out when they need it."

"What has you wondering if the FBI is really right for you?"

"I don't know if I can spend my life dealing with other people's tragedies."

"Not every position in the FBI gets that first-hand experience with tragedy," she points out. "Some of them deal with paper trails or more vague threats as opposed to personal tragedies."

"I guess," I concede. "But…"

"But you've got your eyes set on the behavioural side of things," she finishes for me knowingly.

"Yeah. It's what I want- Or, at least it was what I wanted. I just don't know if I have what it takes to deal with that kind of thing on a daily basis."

She pauses for a moment before grabbing her phone and typing quickly. She flips the phone around and hands it to me. I frown when I see a video of Charlie Chaplin playing, but can't hold back a chuckle at his antics.

"Charlie Chaplin? What's this got to do with it?" I ask, pausing the video and putting the phone down on the desk.

"A former colleague of mine – Jason Gideon – used to teach here."

I nod in recognition. Everyone knows Jason Gideon. After all, he was part of the team that gave profiling and behavioural analysis recognition within law enforcement, and made it a tool of the Bureau when he and his colleagues formed the BAU.

"Every term he brought in his copies of a few original Chaplin films that had been handed down in his family," she finishes.

I open my mouth to ask why, but find myself interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Agent Prentiss?"

"Yes?" she says, turning to face the door.

"Sorry to interrupt," the agent at the door apologizes with a quick look toward me. "Agent Jareau asked me to drop off these consult requests to you."

I watch as her eyes narrow at the thick stack of files. She lets out a sigh that seems to teeter between amused and resignation. "Of course she did. Could you put them over there?" she asks, pointing to the small table and chairs.

"Sure, no problem."

"Thanks, Anderson. And tell Agent Jareau that I said if she's going to add to my workload, she has to drop the cases off herself next time."

He smiles and nods as he utters a polite, "Yes, ma'am."

She lets out a chuckle as she cringes and shakes her head. "Oh god, please don't "ma'am" me, Anderson. It's bad enough the agent trainees call me professor half of the time. You're all making me feel old. Just Prentiss is fine."

"Yes, ma'- Uh, Agent Prentiss," he corrects himself.

"Thanks," she says with a nod as he exits her office and heads down the hallway. "Sorry about that," she says, turning her attention back to me. "They just keep piling onto the cases I've already got…I'm still waiting for them to realize I'm buried under paperwork and haven't actually gotten to any of the files," she finishes with a chuckle. "Now, where were we?"

"Charlie Chaplin," I supply. "You were explaining why Agent Gideon brought in his Charlie Chaplin films."

"Right. He wanted to remind his students that they needed to find some way of dealing with the stress and the strain this job can put on you. I won't lie and tell you just pushing through it will make everything okay. The job isn't for everyone. It's gritty, and it can be gruesome, and at times it can make you feel like your soul has withered up. But there are moments, when you reunite a child with their parents, or save a victim who was moments from death, or bring a criminal to justice and set the community back at ease, that when they happen, you feel a little part of your soul start to live again. And it's those moments that make the rest of it worthwhile."

"Do they really balance out?"

She looks thoughtful for a moment. "Even if they don't, is it worth abandoning those people to their bullies?"

"I guess not," I say.

"You have a lot of potential Miss Gannon. But all the potential in the world won't amount to anything if you don't want it to. If you decide the FBI isn't for you and you'd rather do something else, then so be it. But if you decide to stay, and dedicate yourself to a life of battling those bullies, we'll help you get there. We'll teach you, and train you, and help you build that confidence up so you can take on those bullies. We'll give you the tools you need to get there, but you have to want it."

I blink as my mind processes her words. "Why'd you join the FBI?" I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

She smiles. "I went into law enforcement because I knew it would piss off my mother." My eyes widen in shock. "But I stayed and continued in it because it was fulfilling. I know that I'm having a positive impact on society. And in teaching here at the Academy, I'm making sure that the bullies of the world won't be able to get away with it after I'm retired." I nod in reply. "I'm sorry to have to cut this short, but I have another class I need to get to," she apologizes as she glances at her watch.

"Oh," I say quickly, grabbing my bag and jumping to my feet. "Sorry."

"Don't be," she says, waving off my apology. "It's what they pay me for, isn't it?" she finishes with a small smile.

I return the gesture and offer a quick thanks before heading for the doorway.

"Miss Gannon?" she calls out just as I reach the doorway.

I turn around, wide-eyed. "Yes?"

"Don't give up on yourself. I have a feeling you'll be bringing those bullies to justice in no time," she says sincerely as she grabs her briefcase and stows a few files in it before closing her laptop and slipping it in as well.

"Thank you, Professor," I say with an appreciative smile. I turn and head down the hallway, my mind going over everything we'd talked about. I'd gone into the office uncertain and nervous, only to come out with a renewed vigour for my training and studies, and a growing confidence. I smile as I realize just how lucky I am to be in her class and get to learn from her, because Emily Prentiss is every bit as impressive as the rumours and her reputation suggest.

If you have the chance, I'd love to hear (read) your thoughts. As always, many thanks for the reviews, reads, etc. on the last one. Your support is appreciated.

And as a final note: dramatic licence taken here since I haven't the foggiest how the FBI Academy is run... :)