Sorry for the unexpected hiatus, my friends! Real life unfortunately took hold, and writing kind of slipped down the priorities list. Looks like updates might be a little sparse for the next little while, but I'll do my darndest to get you new conversations fairly regularly.

On another note - thank you all for your kind words and feedback on last chapter. Happy to see you all enjoyed getting the peek into Emily's never-really-at-all mentioned father.

Thought I'd jump back in with a conversation tagged to an episode - season 3's "In Name and Blood". Enjoy!

Happy reading! =)

"There is nothing wrong with change, if it is in the right direction." – Winston Churchill

"Good morning, Ms. Garcia."

I glance up and offer a small smile to Anderson, who's holding open the door for me. "Good morning," I reply hurriedly as I move through the doorway quickly, shooting him an apologetic look when my purse whacks him on the arm.

"Got a case?"

"You know it," I reply, not stopping for chit-chat. I've got preliminary research to delve into on the poor victims of this case so my crime fighters can try and do some good.

Now, usually I beat everyone here and have plenty of time to get the digging done, but this morning was just weird. It was, plain and simple, the Morning. From. Hell.

The day had started innocently enough – being awoken by my phone buzzing, informing me we had a case. Nothing really out of the ordinary there, but as soon as my feet hit the floor, things started going badly. I spilt my freshly brewed cup of coffee all over my pants, and then when I reheated what was left of that coffee, I spilt it all over myself.

Then I couldn't find my car keys for a good twenty minutes, and then I got stuck in traffic (that I would not have hit if I'd been able to leave on time!). By the time I got to work (after having to dig through both of my bags to try and find my ID badge), I was running so late that it felt like I should be saying 'good afternoon' instead of 'good morning'.

"Let me know if you need any help – I'm on filing duty today," Anderson calls out.

"Will do!" I call out as I round the corner and head to my office.

I punch in the key code and push open the door before dropping my bags onto my chair and letting out a puff of air. It's going to be a long few days – I just know it. This morning must have been an ominous sign of warning. With Gideon still who knows where, and Bossman extraordinaire still out on his completely bogus suspension, the team is down two agents. And that means they're understaffed. And that means things could go horribly, terribly, badly that much easier. And that makes me nervous, and anxious, and-

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. They haven't even left the building yet and I'm already fretting. That's not going to do anyone any good, so I resolve to focus on the task at hand. And the task at hand is getting my babies up and running so they can go to work for me.

I hit the power buttons on the monitor and am pleased to find the scans I had running are finished, and aren't reporting anything nefarious or untoward. But there is an alert of some kind flashing on the left monitor…

I lean in and tap a few keys to bring it front and centre. My eyes begin to read the text, quickly identifying that it's from the employee database. My eyes flit back and forth as I scan the list of recent changes in status…wait, that name was- PRENTISS IS QUITTING? What the what?!

A few more taps on the keys and some skim reading tells me that's not the result of a glitch. This is the real deal. Completely legit.

Well crap.

What in the world has possessed her to want to up and leave?! I know Gideon and Bossman were a bit terse with her at first, and our young Doctor wasn't the friendliest, but that's ancient history now. She'd fit in quite nicely, actually. And JJ and I had gotten quite used to having another woman around on the team – she'd balanced things out a bit for us.

I let out a quick, heavy sigh and fling open my door, intent on getting to the bottom of this. My crime-fighters are already down 2 agents, I won't have them down another. I turn the corner of the hallway and head into the bullpen, quickly making my way to her desk, where she's focused on organizing a few files.

"Emily," I say once I reach her desk. "Care to join me in my office?"

"Um? Okay?" she says, a confused expression settling on her face. "You need something? Or is it another cat video? Because I'm actually kind of-"

"You're not too busy for this. Let's go," I say somewhat abruptly. She frowns at my tone, clearly having picked up on the fact that I'm a little 'off' today. Well, it's her own damn fault that I'm a little stressed – she's trying to pull a fast one on us. But I'm not going to let her. Not when I have the chance to convince her to stay.

"Okay, Garcia, I'm here. What's with the cloak and dagger routine?"

"You've got some explaining to do, missy."

Her eyebrow arches, and I can't tell if it's in amusement or not. "Do I?" she says calmly, crossing her arms. Uh oh. I've got her on the defensive already.

"Yes," I say with a nod, my tone a bit softer. "I'd like you to explain why your name's in the system for transfers and resignations."

"Because I've resigned. I'm letting Hotch know as soon as you're done interrogating me."

My eyes grow wide. Even though I'd seen the proof, it hadn't seemed real. Maybe I'd been clinging to a small shred of hope that it was a cruel joke of some kind. "Why?"

She drops her arms to her sides and shrugs. I scrutinize her posture and body language – she doesn't seem confrontational, or angry…she seems almost…sad.

"It's time for a change," she offers. Even I know that's a weak excuse.

"But you haven't been here that long!" Was it something else? Was it us? Did she secretly actually hate all of us? Were those team nights out and all that banter an act?

"It's not you guys," she says with a shake of her head, as though she read my very mind. "I just need a change."

I narrow my eyes at her words. She's still not coming across as totally truthful. There's something there, I just can't put my finger on it.

"You need a change? We are your change! You came to us not that long ago out of nowhere, and yes maybe some of us were a bit skeptical, but we embraced you. You were good for us, and I think we were good for you."

She smiles, and again I find myself noticing that it looks very much like a sad smile. Like she doesn't actually want to do this.

"You all have been great, Garcia. You especially," she says with a light laugh. "I don't think I'll ever meet someone as quirky and compassionate, but completely terrifying as you."

"No," I agree, "you won't. So stay."

She shakes her head. "Sorry, Garcia, but I can't."

"But why?" I protest immediately, my expression falling.

"I've told you already, it's time for a change."

"Em, come on. Think this through," I say. I'm not above begging. I'll do it. I hate change. So much. "This is a big thing. You should take some time to think about it. Talk it through with the team…"

She shakes her head again. "I'm sorry, Garcia. I really am."

"Don't be, just stay!"

"I can't."

"Where are you going to go?"

"As much as I hate to use them, with my own and my mother's connections I've got a pretty good chance of landing in the State Department, so I'm going to take the Foreign Service Exam."

I blink in shock. "You're leaving us to push paper?" Now I know she's lying through her teeth. Emily Prentiss hates paperwork. Even more than my favourite chocolate hunk.

She has the decency to smile sheepishly at being caught in her lie, but shrugs anyway in reply. "I did paperwork here, and I'll do it there. It's just a necessary evil."

"Yeah, but there's no kicking down doors in the State Department," I protest.

I'd always admired how she was always the one to keep up with Morgan in his kicking down doors and tough guy routine tendencies. JJ's a badass in her own right, sure, and Bossman can take down a baddie like nobody's business when he needs to, but Morgan and Prentiss bust down more doors and take more names than anybody I know. The two of them are always Hotch's go-to when takedowns need to happen, and they always relish the opportunity to get out from behind their desks in the bullpen. The fact that Emily is leaving that all behind and taking a job pushing paperwork speaks volumes – something is afoot. I don't know what it is, and I don't know how it came to be, but I know it is, and it sucks, and it's tearing this team apart, and I don't like it.

She laughs lightly. "No, I'd imagine there isn't. Maybe my boots will last a little longer now," she jokes half-heartedly. I don't laugh.

"Why are you really leaving, Em?" I press, intent on getting an honest answer out of her.

"I've already answered that."

"Not truthfully," I counter. "My spidey senses are tingling and that means there's something else going on here."

"Don't ever change, Garcia," she says with a breathy chuckle as she shakes her head. "It's been a pleasure."

"Em, come on-"

"I have to get going. I think I saw Hotch in his office, and I have to let him know."

I blink in shock. This is happening. For real. She's leaving. Actually leaving.

"I'll kill your credit score! I'll cripple you financially!" I threaten, the words flying from my mouth quickly to prevent her from leaving.

"I don't doubt it. You take care."

It had taken a minute for the fact that she was going to talk to Hotch to finalize her resignation to sink in. As soon as it had, I marched out of my lair and into the bullpen, planting myself at her desk, intent on convincing her to stay. She hadn't yet left the building, so all hope was not yet lost. There was still a chance I could fix this.

But I can't stay still. Not when there's this enormous and terrible and painful and horrendous thing going on. Not when my team is being torn apart by….by….by something or someone. I don't know what, or who, but it or they are doing this to my crime fighters, the very people who sacrifice so much of themselves to make sure everyone else gets to live their perfectly normal and happy lives, and I won't stand for it. No, I will not.

And so I begin to pace anxiously, probably looking very much like a caged animal. My mind begins racing over the ways I could try to convince her to stay. There's no way Hotch just lets her leave, but if he does, or has to, then I need a backup plan. I need some way to make her see that she can't leave.

I hear footfalls and look up to find I've made my way halfway to Hotch's office and Emily is on a direct path toward me, a box in her hands. Oh dear. I don't like boxes.

"You're persistent," she says as she slips by me, her tone with the slightest hint of amusement in it.

"You should know that by now," I answer, my expression falling as I follow her to her desk and watch as she begins to pack up the few personal touches she'd brought to it. She was private that way. I remember being shocked that after a few months with the team she still hadn't brought anything to sit on her desk. She'd shrugged and said we weren't in the office enough for it to really matter. I'd taken that personally, and she'd come home from the next case to find a colourful mug on her desk. Slowly over the next few months she brought in a small thing here and there, and occasionally I added to her meagre possessions with bright and sunshine-y things.

"I suppose you're right," she concedes, "but you're not going to change my mind," she finishes as she picks up that very mug that I'd placed on her desk all those months ago. "Do you mind if I keep this?"

My mouth drops open. I'd given that to her. How does she not even realize that she's an integral part of this team already? How does she not get that it was a gift to let her know she could settle down here? That she could get comfortable? That she could be a part of this team? That she could stay for the long haul. She's a profiler! How did she not put that together in her head?!

"I- But- It's- It's yours," I manage to get out.

Her eyes widen ever so briefly, and I wonder if that very thought had just occurred to her. "Right," she says with a nod. "Of course. Thank you again for it, by the way."

I blink rapidly as I watch her hands make quick work of the folders on her desk, placing a few on Morgan's desk, and a few on Reid's desk – a few sticky notes covering sections where she'd made notes on the case contained in the folder. This is real. Crap. This isn't some weird dream – or nightmare, rather – or the like. This is actually happening.

"Em," I begin, but find words failing me. For once in my life, I can't even babble. When I get nervous, I babble. When I get upset, I rant and the words tumble out of my mouth faster than I can process. But this has taken all the words from my mind. I can't string together anything coherent.

"I should get going. I have to drop of my badge and gun," she says, and I find myself a little shocked by how unemotional she seems. It's like it doesn't even matter. No, no, that's not right. I'd seen her emotions behind all of this – it had seemed like the words were being forced over her lips, like she didn't really want to go.

"You can't leave."

"I have to." Have to? That's a very strong statement. Or am I reading too much into it?

"But…but…" I stumble over my thoughts, trying to piece together another argument. Then it hits me. The team. "You haven't told the team yet."

Her face shifts into an almost grimace. "Yeah, I wasn't going to."

"Why not?" I demand, pulling the box from her hands. Her brow furrows and her expression shifts to a frown at my actions.

"Don't really have to," she answers with a shrug, reaching to pull the box back, but I move it away from her reach. Okay, this is seriously hinky. Emily Prentiss is not the type to run away from tough situations, so what's with the cowardly routine?

"That's a load of crap, missy. You owe them more than that. You owe all of us more than that."

She yanks the box from my hands. "No, I don't," she snaps. She's getting defensive – I must have hit a nerve.

"They deserve to hear the reason why you're just up and leaving," I argue.

"Hotch will let them know. People move on to different careers, it's a part of life."

"Does Hotch even know the real reason you're leaving? Or did you tell him the same load of crap you tried to feed me?" I fire back in a burst of bravery.

I swear I see a quick flash of hurt on her face before her brow furrows further. "I already told you why I'm leaving, Garcia. I'm sorry that I can't stay, I really am, but it's just time for a change. You guys are a great team, and do great work, but I can't do what's being asked of me – I need a change."

Can't do what's being asked of her? What the hell is she talking about? Is she saying she can't hack it? 'Cause that's just ridiculous.

"Em-"

"It's been a pleasure, Garcia. Really. I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer."

I open my mouth to respond, but she's already headed toward the door, the roots she'd started to put down here contained in the box held in her hands. My eyes stay glued to her as she pushes open the door and heads toward the elevator and out of our lives. I don't know what the hell happened to make her want to leave all of a sudden, but I'm betting when I find out what it is, I won't be happy.

I really thought we'd lucked out with her. Elle was great, she really was, but she'd gotten too wrapped up in stuff emotionally. I can't judge her for doing that – since I'm generally the one who can't step back from the emotional aspect of things – but her actions were…something else entirely. Maybe she snapped, maybe she was always that way, I don't know. But when Emily had come in, she'd had this calm demeanour. Like a 'don't worry, I got this so long as you don't screw me over' kind of deal. And I hadn't worried for a minute that she was a good fit for this job.

And now she's leaving. No, correction – she's gone. Just like that. I shake my head in disbelief. I'm really starting to believe someone just has it in for our team.

So...did it sound like Garcia? How is it for a 'missing' scene from the show? Did you feel for poor Emily, trying to leave without arousing real suspicion regarding her departure? Let me know!