Hello folks! I'm sorry I disappeared on you all - work's gotten crazy busy! I'll do my best to get back to a regular posting schedule, I promise! But I've got a new perspective for you - one that a couple of people have asked for! Harrison Theodore Campbell III, aka Emily's father.

Happy reading =)

"Being a role model is the most powerful form of educating…too often fathers neglect it because they get so caught up in making a living they forget to make a life." – John Wooden, Wooden: A Lifetime of Observations and Reflections On and Off the Court

"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Daddy's home!" I hear her yell, followed by the quick pitter patter of her feet toward the door. I should have known she'd be excited. She's always been a bundle of energy.

I open up the door and find Emily looking up at me expectantly, her arms already wound tightly around my legs. With a small smile I close the door behind me and gently push her off of me.

"Hi Daddy!" she says, practically bouncing with excitement.

"Hello, Emily."

"Can we go to the park like you promised before you left? Can we? Mommy can come too, right?"

I let out a light sigh. I don't remember making her that promise before I left two months ago, but it's not out of the realm of possibility. I probably banked on her forgetting in the time that I was away. Evidently her memory is far better than I thought. Regardless, I don't have the time or patience to deal with this right now. My trip may be over, but I have a briefcase filled with documents and research I need to familiarize myself with for my trip in 2 weeks.

"No," I say with a shake of my head and a small, sad smile. "I have some work to do." Her expression falls immediately, but I turn quickly, grabbing my briefcase and heading toward my office.

"But you're home now, that means you're done with work," she replies as she follows me down the hallway.

"Not all the work I do is at my office, Emily. Sometimes I have to work while I'm at home."

"If you do it at home, why don't they call home 'work'?"

"I don't know, I didn't name it that," I say distractedly as I open up the door to my office.

"Will you play with me?" she asks hopefully as she begins to look at the various papers on my desk.

"Emily! I told you I had work to do."

Her eyes widen fractionally, but she persists. "I can help! Mommy and me have been reading lots. I can help you read your papers-"

"Emily," I say, trying to interrupt her, but she keeps talking.

"-and then you can finish your work faster-"

"Emily," I say, a little louder this time.

"-so we can go to the park and-"

"EMILY!" I yell, finally reaching my patience threshold. "Can you just… Please leave me alone. I have a lot of work to do and I can't do that with you bothering me."

Emily shrinks back and her expression falls as she shuffles backward.

"Harrison," I hear an all too familiar tone chastise me. I look up and find the source: Liz. There's a disapproving and disappointed look on her face, and I can't say I'm entirely surprised.

"Liz," I say with a shake of my head, "can you take her? I'm tired, and I have a lot of work to do."

Liz's brow furrows into a frown. "You've just gotten back, how can you have more work?"

"Money never sleeps," I offer in explanation. "You know that."

"You can't take an hour out of your day to spend with your daughter?" she asks, her tone a bit clipped. I can tell she's ready for a fight, and seeing as how I'm not about to give in, this could turn into just that. Seems it's been a long time since we've been able to have a civil conversation.

"I have financials to go over for a few companies we're looking at acquiring in the States."

"You didn't answer my question," she presses.

"No," I answer firmly. "I don't have an hour to take off."

"She hasn't seen you in months, Harrison."

"Well I'm betting she hasn't seen a whole lot of you in those months either. Oh, don't look so surprised, Elizabeth. You forget that I know you."

"No, you don't," she bites back, her stubborn nature coming into full force.

"Am I wrong?" I press, knowing she's been dedicated her time lately to raising her profile among the diplomats. "You know what, let's ask Emily." I turn to face my daughter, who is picking at her nails and shifting uncertainly on her feet, her eyes wide as she looks back and forth between Elizabeth and myself. "Has your mother been working a lot while I've been away, Emily?"

"Don't pull her into this!" Elizabeth interrupts before Emily can answer. "She's a child!"

"It's a simple question, surely a child of her intelligence can give us a bit of clarity on the issue," I answer, my tone forceful and every bit as condescending as I'd intended. I'm not about to let her push me around on this topic. Not when she's trying to pretend she isn't a hypocrite.

"Don't put her in the middle of this!" she argues loudly.

"I'M JUST ASKING HER A QUESTION!" I yell back, my temper rising by the second. Lately she's had this way of getting my blood to a boiling point within minutes.

"Emily, why don't you go to your room and read for a little bit?" she says, with wide eyes that are flaming dangerously.

"No, you should stay."

"Harrison, please," she pleads, her tone softening and becoming more desperate. "She doesn't need to hear this."

"You think she can't hear us in her room? These walls aren't soundproof, Elizabeth."

"Emily, go on," she says, nodding her head toward the doorway.

Emily looks uncertainly toward me and then back to her mother, clearly unsure who she's supposed to listen to. "Just answer my question, and then you can go, Emily," I say finally, locking eyes with Elizabeth, who shoots me an angry expression.

Emily mumbles something, her eyes wide and her expression slightly fearful. "Speak up!" I demand, her mumbling frustrating me to no end.

"What did you ask?" she repeats, a little louder this time.

"I asked if your mother has been working a lot while I've been away."

"It's okay, Emily. You don't have to answer. Just go on to your room," Elizabeth says, clearly trying to soothe the child, but unable to keep the wavering out of her tone.

Emily pauses for a moment, once again shifting her gaze back and forth between us before she begins to head toward the door. She stops abruptly and turns around. "I'm sorry if I made you angry, Daddy. I didn't mean to. We don't have to go to the park. I'll be quiet so you can do your work."

Elizabeth's expression falls at Emily's words, and I find myself blinking in shock. Emily's expression is a mixture of disappointment, shame, and…is that fear? Had I done that? When had I become that person? When had I become my own father?

We both watch as Emily disappears through the doorway and heads down the hall, her door closing with a soft click.

"How can you do that to her?" Elizabeth demands as she turns and begins to walk closer to me. "All she wants is to spend a little time with you. She hasn't seen you in months, Harrison, and you're her father, despite how much you try to deny it."

My eyes widen at her words. What the hell was she trying to imply?

"But she needs you to at least act like the father you're supposed to be. You owe her more than you're giving her right now, Harrison," Liz says with a pointed glare. "So get your shit together, and don't fuck this up," she finishes, her voice lowering dangerously.

I blink in shock at her words. I may not like them, but a small part of me knows I've been avoiding my fatherly role. It had slipped down the depth chart when my career had started to blossom.

I head down the hallway, pausing to peer at the closed door to Emily's room. I let out a light sigh. My feelings are conflicted when it comes to Emily. On the one hand, I can remember being excited at the prospect of having a child, and the overwhelming feelings that accompanied holding her for the first time. But on the other…maintaining the perfect family life isn't conducive to the life I have to live as a young businessman making his way up the ladder.

Emily hadn't been planned. It was just supposed to be me and Elizabeth – the power couple. I never had a problem with Liz's career, or her aspirations to climb up the political ladder. In fact, it fit in nicely with my own aspirations. But then she'd gotten pregnant, and things got complicated quickly. I couldn't be home all the time, and she began to resent me for it. We grew apart steadily, but kept up the all-important happy couple mask at events. When Emily was born, I was halfway across the world in a business meeting and I didn't find out until two days later.

3 weeks after she was born, I got a call from my boss, telling me he needed me to fly to Canada to facilitate a deal. It was a significant assignment, my first real chance at having influence on a deal, and there was no way I was going to pass it up. I hung up the phone, repacked my bag and told Liz I'd be gone for a little while.

But that was just the beginning. Things went well in Canada, and all of a sudden, I got asked to fly over to Europe and work on a deal in Denmark. Then it was an extended stay in the States, and then another deal in Canada. The trips came quickly, and my boss' confidence in me grew. My name started to be whispered around the water cooler as someone who was being groomed to take over a bigger role in the company. It seemed that by the time I got the chance to spend more than a few consecutive days at our home, Emily was already 3.

I let out another light sigh and shake my head slightly to clear my head as I turn the opposite direction from Emily's room and head toward my office. I drop my briefcase next to my chair and slip off my suit jacket before rolling up my sleeves. I unlock my cabinet and retrieve one of the bottles of rather expensive scotch that had been gifted to me by my boss after I closed one of the deals in Canada. I pour some into a glass and collapse into my leather chair.

I wasn't ready then to be a father, and I'm not ready now. I don't know how to be a role model. I don't know how to teach someone else how to live in this world. I loved Elizabeth once, and I still do on some level, but I'm not willing to throw away all those years of work just to play the happy husband and doting father – whatever that is.

But Liz is right, Emily deserves more from me. I may not be ready to throw away all of my career growth, but that doesn't mean I can't be a father to her. The tough part is going to be figuring out how to do that, because I certainly didn't have the best example of a father figure growing up.\

I'd spent most of the day trying to focus on work, but found my thoughts drifting to my wife and daughter. I never wanted my marriage to fall apart like this, and I certainly never wanted to become my own father – a distant, demanding, and unnecessarily tough man. And yet somehow both things had happened.

I drop my pen and begin to rub at my temples, my eyes closed. It's all such a mess.

Suddenly I hear a creak in the hallway outside my office and find Emily peeking around the corner. When our gazes meet, she ducks back around the frame.

"It'sokay, Emily," I call out, a moment of bravery and optimism bursting forth from my day spent ruminating what kind of man I am. "You can come in."

She edges into the room ever so slowly, and I offer a small smile of encouragement. I can't say I blame her hesitant steps – Liz and my blow up earlier hadn't been pretty, and she'd been right in the thick of it.

"Come have a seat, I'm taking a break from my work and could use someone to talk to."

Her eyes widen ever so slightly as they take on a hopeful look. Liz's words echo in my mind as my daughter's lips curl into a tiny smile. All she wants is to spend a little time with you.

She hops up on to the couch across from me and I can't help but notice the strained silence that had filled the room. I'd never been good with kids. I always found it impossible to figure out what to say to them, or how to relate to their lives. For as much as I try to vilify Liz, she's a natural mother. Caught between trying to have a strong career, and be a strong mother, yes, but a natural nonetheless. This kind of thing came easily to her.

"How was your birthday?" I ask, grasping desperately at a topic of some kind. I think her birthday was sometime during the last couple months…

"Good," she answers quietly. "Mommy got me some new books, and Shane gave me a new doll."

"Shane?" I ask, my brow furrowing in confusion. "Who's Shane?"

"Me and Mommy's friend. He drives Mommy to work and drives me to school." Right, the driver. He'd been with Liz for a couple years now. "Do you know Shane?"

"Yes," I answer with a nod, "I've met him before. He's a nice man."

"Yeah," she answers with a nod of her own. "He always talks to me, even when he's busy with his schedules. Mommy says I shouldn't bother him, but he always says I never bother him."

"Well, if he says it's okay, then I suppose it doesn't hurt anyone to chat with him."

"Yeah," she says with a shrug. "Oh! Thank you for the new dress!"

I blink in confusion. "New dress?" What the hell was she talking about? And why was she thanking me for it?

"Yeah, my birthday present that you sent me."

I blink in confusion once more – birthday present? I sent her a birthday present? I don't think I did…maybe Liz had covered for me? "You're welcome," I say with a small smile. She grins widely in return for a moment before turning her attention to her lap.

I tilt my head as I watch her fingers tug at various loose threads on a stuffed animal in her lap. "What've you got there?" I ask, nodding toward the subject of her focus.

"Un loup garou," she answers simply. A werewolf? Why does she have a werewolf?

"Where did you get that?"

"Mommy bought it for me when we went to Hamburg."

"Aren't you scared of it? It is a werewolf…"

She just shrugs. "Werewolves are people too."

"No they aren't," I argue. "They aren't human."

"Only sometimes. The rest of the time, they're just like us."

I consider her answer carefully. Her words seem to be well beyond her years. Most children I've encountered would be downright terrified with the idea of a werewolf, and would certainly not want to even consider having a stuffed one. This one in her lap seems to be well loved. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that she sleeps with it at night.

"Does it have a name?" I ask finally, nodding again to the stuffed animal in her lap.

"François."

"François?" I repeat, a little surprised by the relatively normal name. I would've thought "Wolfy" would be more appropriate on many levels… Then again, she has spent the last few years in different parts of France, so maybe it's not so far-fetched.

She nods and holds him out to me. "Do you want to see him?"

"Um, well…sure," I say awkwardly, watching as she hops down from the couch and walks over to my chair. I take the well-loved animal from her and examine it carefully, noting the bare patches and scratched eyes. She must carry this thing with her everywhere. "How old is François?"

"I don't really know," she admits.

"Well when did you get him?"

"Last year."

"Well then I would say he's a year."

"But maybe he was already old when I got him." I arch an eyebrow at her words, realizing my daughter is far smarter than I give her credit for.

"That's a fair point," I concede.

"How old do you think he is, Daddy?" she asks, her voice still a bit hesitant, as though she's not sure she should be asking the question.

I turn François over a few times as I scrutinize him once more. "Well you said he's a werewolf, right?"

"Oui," she answers with a nod.

"Well I think most werewolves live for a very long time."

She nods, her eyes wide with rapt attention.

"And François here looks a little worse for wear…" I continue, pointing out a particularly bare patch on his neck.

Her expression shifts to slight embarrassment, and I feel a small smile spreading on my face. She certainly is a character.

"But I think that's just because he's had to move around quite a bit," I explain, drawing from Emily's real-life experience.

"Am I going to look like that?" she asks worriedly, her eyes growing wide with fear. "I move around lots with Mommy and you."

My own eyes widen, realizing I've terrified my own child. "No, no, no," I backtrack quickly. "It's a wolf thing."

"So I'm not going to look like that?"

I shake my head. "No, Emily. You won't."

She lets out a sigh of relief, and I find myself also exhaling in relief. Some father I'm turning out to be. Within minutes of talking with her, I'd terrified her.

"So how old do you think he is?" she asks, reminding me of her earlier question.

"I think he's five years old," I answer simply, plucking the first number that comes to mind.

"Just like me!" she says happily, a wide grin spreading on her face.

"Yes," I say quickly, "just like you." She's five already? When did that happen?

"Emily! Time for dinner," I hear Liz call out. I frown slightly. Liz doesn't normally cook, and certainly doesn't beckon people for dinner. But I hadn't seen any of the staff around today…so she must have. "Emily? Where are you?" she calls out questioningly, clearly having poked her head into Emily's room and found it empty.

"I'm in here!" Emily yells back. "Daddy and I are talking."

"I see that," Liz says from the doorway. "Why don't you put François in your room and then wash your hands?"

Emily's expression falls. "Can François eat with us, Mommy?"

"You know the rules, Emily. No toys at the table," Liz answers gently, but firmly.

"But he's not a toy!" she protests stubbornly. Like mother, like daughter, it seems.

"Emily," Liz says firmly. "He goes in your room, please."

"What's it going to hurt, Liz? Let her have it at the table."

"Harrison, please, don't-"

"Can I, Mommy? Please? He'll be good and I'll be good. I'll eat all my veggies!"

"Come on, Liz. Let her have a little fun, she's a child," I implore.

Liz shoots me an unimpressed look. "Fine, but you still need to wash your hands, and François stays on his own chair, not on the table."

"Okay!" Emily says happily, dashing out of the room to wash her hands.

"Harrison, please don't undermine my authority."

"It's just a toy, Liz."

"Yes, but you're making me out to be the bad guy here, and I'm the one who has to deal with her every day. If she hates me because I'm always the one enforcing the rules, she's never going to listen to me."

I shake my head. "It's just a toy."

She lets out a heavy exhale and closes her eyes, no doubt in an effort to calm her temper. Before she can say anything, Emily runs back into the room and grabs the stuffed wolf from my hands. "Thanks, Daddy," she says, throwing her small arms around me as best she can. I return the hug awkwardly, patting her back gently.

"For what?"

"Talking with me. And telling me how old François is."

"No problem," I say with a small smile, watching as she darts off to the dining room.

"You talked?" Liz says, an eyebrow arched doubtfully.

"We did," I say with a nod. "I'm not the monster you think I am, Liz."

"I never said you were a monster," she answers, her tone losing its sharp edge for once, and her gaze softening. It almost reminds me of how she used to look at me. "There are far worse men in the world. I just wish you'd be around more often for her."

"You know I have t-"

"I know," she says, interrupting me. "Doesn't stop me from wishing it. I want her to know her father."

I take a moment to really look at her and find traces of sadness in her eyes. I'm reminded all of a sudden that she lost her mother when she was young. Of course she'd want Emily to have both parents around. She wants to give Emily what she never had – two parents. I can't blame her…on some level, that's what I want to give Emily too. Liz just seems to have a better grasp on how to do that.

"Let's go eat," I say, avoiding the truth behind her words. Despite a day of ruminating on it, I still hadn't figured out exactly what being a father meant, or how I was going to do it. Maybe it would sort itself out in time, but for the moment, I don't really want to deal with it. That's for tomorrow.

So...how do we feel about Harrison? Did you enjoy the peek into Emily's childhood? What did you think about Elizabeth's part in all this? Let me know!