A/N To those still following this story I have to apologize deeply for the wait on this story and thank you for your patience. I couldn't seem to be happy with the chapters I was writing, they didn't seem to do the story justice. I actually cleaned off an old laptop and found Derek's. I realized I liked it more than I thought that I had. JJ's, however, was crap and the only thing I kept from it was the quote at the end. But as I contemplated this story this chapter happened in my head and seemed to write itself. I also was to clarify that if this story happened while Kate was on the team that Michael would never have been born.

"Memories of that which we have lost are curious things - weeks, months, even years may pass without recollection of them and then, quite suddenly, something will remind us of a lost friend, or of a favourite possession that has been mislaid or destroyed, and then we think: Yes, that is what I have had and I have no longer"

― Alexander McCall Smith

Emma looked from her dad to and then over to her mother. Her father noted the look of confusion on her face and sighed internally. His little girl had begun that phase where she had a question about everything and never seemed quite satisfied with her answers.

True to prediction she took a deep breath in preparation.

"Daddy, why don't you have a mommy?" The question was not what he had been expecting and came as a punch in the gut.

She looked at her father curiously as he floundered for a few moments. Just as his wife was opening her mouth to answer for him, their little girl continued.

"Mommy calls gramma Lisa mom, and she calls grandpa Frank dad, and they always are together, like you and mommy are. But Grandpa Will is always alone. And you always call him dad." His brilliant child pointed out the facts.

"I do have a mom." Henry said slowly. Even after all this time he hasn't been able to refer to her in the past tense.

"Then where is she? Does she not want to come visit me?" Emma asked. Henry scooped his little girl into his arm and hugged her tightly.

"Of course she does. More than anything."

"So why doesn't she?"

Henry paused for a long time, thinking before he answered.

"Do you remember Waggles?" Henry asked. "How he loved you very much, but he had to go away." Emma nodded solemnly. "My mom had to go away too."

"Why?" Emma asked, remembering how hard it had been when her dog had left.

"Sometimes you don't have a choice. And we don't always understand why."

"Do you miss her like I miss Waggles?" Emma asked.

"Everyday." Henry answered quietly. "But people we love are always with us."

"How?" Emma asked, looking around the room for this mysterious grandma.

"Can you smile for me?" Henry asked. Emma eyed her father curiously before complying with a blindingly bright smile.

"It's there. In your smile. It's exactly the same." Henry told her. "And I always feel her love. In my heart."

"Like when you tell me you love me on the phone and it feels like a hug?"

"Exactly like that." He confirmed.

"what did she look like?"

"Do you want to see some pictures?" Henry's wife, Sara, asked her daughter, tears in her eyes from the conversation. Emma nodded eagerly. Soon she was sitting, sandwiched between her parents, a big leather book on her lap. On the cover was a picture of Jennifer and Will on their wedding day.

"She's so beautiful." Emma whispered in awe.

"She sure is." Sara answered.

"Is that Grandpa Will?"

"He looks younger doesn't he?" Henry said with a low chuckle. They began flipping through the pages slowly as Henry talked about his mother. Halfway through the tears began to flow, but he kept talking.

The pictures ranged from solo photos, to family photos, to photos with a team she had worked with. Henry told his daughter about his Uncle Spence, and the magic tricks he had learned.

"That's Aunt Pen." Emma declared in surprise at one of the team photos.

"Yeah, she worked with your grandma."

"Does she miss her too?"

"Of course." Henry answered.

When he flipped to a picture of the memorial sight, and the flowers present she spoke again. "That's a lot of flowers. What do they mean?"

"People leave flowers for people they love when they are gone."

"A lot of people must have loved her, with so many flowers." Emma observed.

"She was easy to love." Henry whispered.

"Can I buy her flowers and take them to her?" Emma asked.

Unable to answer Henry simply nodded.

"Of course sweetie. Her birthday is soon. We'll take her the biggest prettiest bunch of flowers we can find then." Sara assured her daughter. Emma smiled brilliantly as she ran her fingers over her grandmother's smile in the picture.

Before she could flip another page the doorbell rang, startling them all.

"I'll get it." Henry said climbing to his feet, and scrubbed at his face. "It's your grandpa Will."

"I should go check on dinner." Sara said, also standing from the couch. They left Emma flipping through the photos. She was so focused on the book that she missed the sound of her grandpa entering the room.

"What is that you have?" He asked.

"Grandpa." She shrieked happily as she launched herself into his arms.

"Hello Emma." Her grandpa said, a laugh in his voice.

"Grandpa, we are going to take gramma flowers for her birthday. Will you come too?" Emma asked.

Her grandfather's eyes landed on the open book, where his beloved wife was immortalized with a smile on her face, their infant son in her arms. His eyes softened.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." He vowed.

"Daddy says that he misses her every day. But that she is around when I smile." Emma informed him matter of fact, smiling to show him.

"I've always though so." Will managed to get out, overwhelmed by the moment.

"Dinner's ready. Emma wash up." Sara's voice called from the kitchen. Emma shimmied from her grandpa's arms to the ground before racing up the stairs. She halted when she heard him talk.

"I will always miss you, cher" Her grandpa told the photo as he traced her face. Something quiet and warm wrapped around the room and Emma understood a bit what her father said, about feeling her love around them. She smiled, just for her grandmother, and headed upstairs to wash up.

"No matter how much he talked, she never answered him, but he knew she was still there."

― Pat Cunningham Devoto