I'm Still Here: Here Is Gone

The bell outside rang loudly, symbolizing the beginning of class. It hardly had fazed him when some of his students walked into the classroom, quickly taking notice of someone they had never seen before, and they definitely had questions. Whispers of wonderment had already been placed among the early morning class.

"I should let you get to your class." She signaled quietly, taking a step back towards the door, and he swore that his heart skipped a beat because she was about to step out there and reality set in that this really was his last chance to make anything of the moment. A desperate stare, he watched her take the few steps, her hand grasping the knob and he did the only thing that he could think of—he called out to her.

He felt a piece of relief as they stepped out into the hall. The door closed behind, almost like they had put another part of their past behind them. But they weren't alone, and he found as her stare collided with his that he got a moment to see the little girl she had been.

"If there's anything I have wanted to say to you," Despite not wanting to break from the vision he saw of the little girl he saw inside, he forced himself to look what he saw now, even though he desperately wanted to hold on to the little girl that seemed to be crying out to be held. "It would start with not holding you enough," He felt the tears welling up in his eyes. "Or telling you how much that I loved you."

Somewhere inside, even though what she had said about not needing him to love her, the little girl inside began to finally break free. He really loved her. But as she blinked back the emotion of whether she should really believe him, she still wouldn't let him know how many times she had cried, or how many times she had hurt to know if he had actually loved her at all.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She half whispered. This time it was hurt, from deep inside, that almost urged him to tears. He couldn't hide anymore how much he had hurt her, how much he had avoided his own daughter.

He felt the guilt overwhelm him. "The last time I talked to you, our argument over the phone I took it that you never wanted me to find you again. I called you a few weeks later and your phone was disconnected. I tried to look you up every year but you were never listed again."

Megan reached into her pocket, holding her phone in her hand. "I moved."

"Where?" She gazed up at him as he swallowed. He really wanted to know. To him this was important.

"At that time, Oklahoma." He nodded, taking the information in. She could see the burning urge to him asking her where she was living now. "Moved a couple years after." Reminiscing on her time with the behavioral unit with the FBI, she looked up at him, reading his expression. He looked hopeful.

His throat was suddenly dry. Maybe she had been closer than he had originally thought. "But you're happy now?" This question had surprised him, and her.

There was a slight pause between them as she collected her thoughts. They exchanged glances, and he tilted his head in a pleading way. "I'm happy." Her own words seemed to echo in her head.

"Good." He noted, his expressions reflecting how happy he was for her, but guilt still sat heavily on his chest. So instead he decided to focus on her. The way she stood so tall, how professional she looked and the way she had dealt with this situation, even though he saw many questions that she could ask him, but hadn't. He also knew that this conversation would be short lived. "So how long are you here for?"

"I leave Friday morning back to LA." She answered, putting her phone back into her pocket, a content look in her expression as she pushed herself away from the wall. Megan never thought of how hard it was to have left, knowing full well when she came back there would be plenty of questions. He grew quiet again feeling time growing even shorter.

His eyes brightened, but knew not to judge this moment too quickly. As father and daughter they were better off than they had been for the last ten years, but they hadn't even began to touch the surface of their broken relationship.

"Thank you for coming." He finished with deep gratitude.