It's getting later by the second, and Emily has yet to call it quits. She straightens her desk, as the clock ticks. The abrasion on her head from her most recent trauma has not magically disappeared. A set of footsteps making their way down the hall garner her attention. A familiar figure materializes in the doorway.

"Prentiss, it's time to go home," Rossi advises.

"I'll just be a few more minutes," she promises.

"No. It is time to go. Grab your stuff. I will walk you out."

She nods in agreement, and grabs her personal effects. They walk in silence all the way to the elevator. As Dave reaches past her to hit the button she breaks the silence.

"Dave?"

"Yes, Emily?"

"Do you have regrets?"

"About what in particular?"

"This job?"

"I don't have regrets about the job, per se."

"But?"

"I do have regrets about the things that I traded off to stay in this job so long."

She leans against the rail of the elevator as she lets that thought marinate. "You've never struck me as one who fears the blank page staring back at you."

"We're creatures of habit. I do what I know, and this is what I know best."

She exhales as she grips her bag with two hands in front of her. "At what cost though?"

"Emily, I can't answer that for you."

"This whole ordeal just gives me pause."

He scoffs, "Since when do you pause?"

"That is what I mean. I never take a breath to stop and consider anything else. I just move towards the target no matter the cost."

"This job is hell, and it always will be."

"I don't want my entire life to be a living hell," she answers softly.

The doors open, and the pair of them step off. "Emily, do you have regrets?"

"I don't know. That is my point. What did I deprive myself of because of this job?"

"Do you want to drink until you find the philosophical version of Emily?"

"No. Drinking, and smoking, and whatever else that I do to cope with all of this is nothing more than one more thing on the long list of ways to disassociate."

"I won't argue with that. I will warn you that you probably won't like the answers."

"Of course I won't."

"I'm just a call away if you dig a hole too deep."

She nods in acknowledgement, as she climbs into the driver's seat of her vehicle.

Hours later in the safety of her own home she is no closer to any answers, or sleep. She sits on her couch with a box of tissues, and an empty popcorn bowl. She's still in her work clothes, and has yet managed to shower. She pulls out her phone, and dials a familiar number.

"Good morning," the voice on the other end greets.

"Good morning? I haven't gone to bed yet."

"Emily, it's five thirty."

"Shit! Penelope, I didn't mean to wake you."

"I'm up. I came home, and crashed."

"It is your day off, I shouldn't have called," she responds apologetically.

"Are you okay?"

"Would you believe me if I said that I was?"

"Of course not."

"Then why did you ask?"

"I was just checking your barometer. I'll get dressed, and come over."

"You don't have to do that."

"I don't want you going into some existential crisis."

"Garcia, my entire life is an existential crisis."

Emily doesn't budge from the couch in whatever time passes between hanging up the phone, and Penelope's arrival. Penelope pushes open the door, and in that instant Emily realizes that she didn't even lock the door behind herself.

"Emily, you need to take a shower," Penelope doesn't pull any punches.

"Yes, boss," Emily mockingly salutes.

"I'll put on some coffee."

"No… I should go to bed."

Penelope furrows her brow. She lowers herself into a barely used armchair.

"Em, what is going on here?"

Emily chews on what's left of her nailbed on her left thumb. The palm of her opposite hand attempts to smooth the wrinkles of her pant leg.

"Do you ever stop and think about how hollow, and empty all of this is?"

Penelope brushes her hair from her cheek, "Of what?"

"Engaging with utter darkness during our waking hours, and coming home to nothing. I used to relish not having to feign happiness to someone, or something at home, but lately coming home to silence is taking its toll on me."

"How do you want me to respond to that? Do you want me to suggest that you get a dog, or something?"

"I don't want a dog, P."

"But you don't want to come home to emptiness? Emily, don't take this the wrong way, but you've never been one to seek deep long lasting relationships of any kind. Everything in your life is only temporary."

"What if I don't want it to be?"

"I don't think I'm the person you need to be having this conversation with. A licensed professional would give you better advice."

"When I am done with this job, what will I have to come home to?"

"Are you thinking of walking away from the job?"

"I didn't say that."

"I'm sorry, your non-verbals were screaming that."

"Seriously, whether I never go back to the office, or retire at ninety, what do I have to look forward to? What do I have in my life worth living for?"

"I just hope that you're not suggesting rushing into some kind of relationship with a man because you're feeling lonely."

"I'm not. I am not saying that at all."

"I keep trying to get on the same page with you, but every single time that I do, you seem to exit stage left. You don't want a dog, and you don't want a man. What do you want, a woman?"

Emily smirks, "No."

"I think you should table whatever ridiculousness you have cooked up in your insomnia fueled state. You've just been traumatized, and you are in no state to be making major life decisions."

"Do you ever have an unrelenting sinking feeling deep in your gut?"

"Yeah, and when I do I usually eat, and feel better."

Emily rolls her eyes, "What if I told you that I've been ignoring mine for years?"

"Eat something."

"It isn't hunger pain. I've made every single excuse in the book as to why it would be totally irrational. No matter how many valid reasons I throw in its direction, it won't go away."