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In her former life, Frankie was a profiler. But that was a long time ago. It’s better not to think about it. In that life she looked into the minds of the worst the human race had to offer. In this one she spends her time rehabilitating the worst that the business world had to offer. Her therapist says that this one is healthier. She’s not sure if she believes him.
She tries to focus on her current life. Tries to tell herself that she’s still contributing something valuable to the world. She is saving companies (generally from themselves) and saving people’s livelihoods in the proces. She does not tell her therapist that she liked saving lives a lot better.
Then she gets hired by this little community college out in Colorado - Quite possibly the world’s worst college. They gave a diploma to a dog for goodness sake! - and things begin to change. Somehow, and she’s never quite sure how, she falls in with what she once might have (rather derisively) called loveable losers. Except they’re not losers at all. As she gets to know them she quickly discovers that for all their innate silliness, they’re also some of the most genuine and driven people she’s ever met. They may also be the most optimistic. Even Jeff, who wears his cynicism like a shield, is, at heart, an incurable optimist. It is a strange thing to be around. Optimism was not a virtue cultivated in her former life. It too often led to disappointment. It is strange that here, in this place where there seems to be little reason for hope, the people are optimistic. Despite all evidence to the contrary, they truly believe that they can make their lives better.
Being around them makes her feel oddly... happy . Much to her own surprise she finds herself looking forward to whatever misadventure the group has gotten themselves into this time. It’s almost enough to make her forget who she was. Who she still really is, a treacherous voice whispers inside of her.
Even though she doesn’t forget,she still finds herself craving their company. She has never been good at being alone, and being with them makes her feel more alive then she has in a long time. She writes about it in a letter to JJ. Like all the others it's disguised as a letter to the sister that her file says she once had. The email is never sent and there are no replies. Nor is there much real substance. When the server gets hacked this turns out to be a good thing.
Later, as she nears the end of her scheduled time at Greendale, she will confess how much she’s come to enjoy it to Jeff. He will roll his eyes and make a typically sarcastic comment. Then, just as she’s starting to wonder what made her think telling him was a good idea, he’ll smile fondly over at the others (who are engaged in a full on food fight-instigated by Abed, of course) and say “Yeah, they grow on you don’t they.” Then that small smile will grow into a full on grin as he grabs a ketchup bottle and starts to squeeze. Frankie will find herself shrieking and laughing as he covers her shirt with the red sticky substance. It is in moments like that one that she most succeeds in not thinking about the life that she left behind. These moments almost make her believe that her therapist is right, and there is a future for her that does not involve staring into the darkness. She doesn’t believe that of course. The darkness is always waiting out there. It is inevitable she will be drawn back in. Part of her desperately wants it to happen soon. Staring into the light is so much more scary than the darkness ever was.
Always, though, these moments end, and reality comes crashing back in. Normally this happens when she lets herself truly think about this strange band of misfits. Because no matter whether one is thinking about a former life or not, the skills gained during it do not go away. They are always there dancing around the back of her mind, just waiting for a chance to slip out. Without ever really meaning to, Frankie finds herself profiling. ‘Functioning alcoholic.’ She writes by Jeff’s name on her Greendale flowchart. ‘Self esteem issues born out of childhood neglect?’ Later she will find it very telling that Jeff reacts badly to the alcoholic part of the comment, and ignores everything else. Never let it be said that those at Greendale are ignorant of their own issues - or the reasons behind them.
Whenever she catches herself profiling them she feels a surge of guilt. As if she’s broken some sort of unspoken rule. “ You don’t profile profilers,” a voice from her past screams. “You don’t profile your team.” She tries hard to squash that guilt. They aren’t profilers-well Abed probably could be, but that neither here nor there-so she’s not breaking that rule. And while she may be working with them for now, the Save Greendale Committee are NOT her team. She knows what teams are. She had one once, so she knows what teams are like. She vividly remembers the moments of laughter, of tears, knowing that no matter how insane the plan, someone always had you back. She remembers what having a team feels like. “ Like this,” the traitorous voice whispers .
The voice is wrong of course. Teams are something you know you can always count on, something permanent. As fun as this is sometimes, it is just temporary. She will leave soon, and when she is gone, they will never think of her again. A team would always remember her. So the Save Greendale Committee can not be her team. Not be her… family.
And there’s that word. Family. It is the word Frankie tries the hardest not to think. Frankie had a family once. Emily had a family once. Then a monster from her past took them all away. If that should happen again, and it would, then Frankie’s not sure her soul would survive it. She knows that the tattered remains once known as Emily Prentiss won’t.
And that’s why the Save Greendale Committee cannot be her family. It’s safer that way. Emily Prentiss had a family. Frankie Dart doesn’t need one. It is important to remember that. Her head knows that. Her heart on the other hand… It takes slightly more convincing. But it needs to be done. Because maybe if she can, it will make the coming goodbye hurt so much less.