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~Let me go~
~I got you baby. I’m not letting you go. You’re my friend, you’re my partner~
She could feel it, could feel it as clearly as she felt the stake pushing through the barrier of flesh and slipping under her ribcage – death. It was cold, so cold, and she found herself, felt herself, wanting to drift away into that darkness. Darkness had been a home to her since Matthew died, since the blame was set firmly at her feet for his spiral into addiction. The darkness, at least, welcomed her. She didn’t often feel welcome anywhere else on this planet.
~I can take it~
But death didn’t come, or rather, it came but didn’t stay. She was aware of that now as her senses began to slowly return. There was light, a bright, terribly bright light burning through her closed eyelids…and a sound…a hospital monitor, perhaps? She wasn’t sure, but her wakening mind began to feel the nudge of curiosity, her brain urging her to open her eyes to discover the source.
“Emily? Emily?”
That was her name, wasn’t it? Emily? Or…was she Lauren?
Lauren.
That name.
Lauren Reynalds.
So familiar.
Lauren…it was another life, a lifetime ago.
With him.
Him.
Her subconscious roared awake at the memory of his face, his voice, at the fear that he was still there. Oh God! Doyle! Doyle was there and he was beating her, fist in her face, foot in her ribs…and the stake, stabbing deeply inside. Killing her. He was killing her!
Emily Prentiss’ eyes flew open in panic as she willed her wounded body to comply, to let her leap from this bed and take flight, take fight to him – but the tubes, monitor wires…injuries… they held her fast and she had that certainty that he would be there, standing over her, gun in hand and looking into her eyes as he pulled the trigger, smiling as he watched her life slip away. Oh God, please no…
“Emily? Thank God.”
It was the squeeze of hands on her shoulders, easing her rigid frame back to the bed that she was first aware of, it was the soft voice that made her realise it wasn’t Doyle at her bedside but a woman, a slight but strong woman with long flowing blonde hair.
She tried to manipulate her face into a smile, but she wasn’t sure of the success. “JJ?”
It sounded to her ears like nothing more than a guttural growl, so she swallowed dryly and tried again. “JJ.” It was a croak true, but it sounded slightly more human than the first attempt.
JJ smiled and squeezed her friend’s hand more tightly. “I’m here, Emily. You’re safe.”
Emily shook her head and rasped “Doyle.”
“Shhhh. Don’t try to speak too much.” JJ shifted the conversation, her years as press liaison for the FBI coming naturally once more. “Would you like some water?”
Emily found she did and nodded, wincing as Jennifer Jareau helped lift her head from the pillow so she could grip the straw between her lips.
“Just a little.” JJ urged gently. That was a mother’s way Emily realised and she was glad to be cared for like this and for a moment, she wanted to curl up in those arms and sob like JJ’s own infant boy.
“Better?”
Emily nodded and fixed Jennifer ‘s blue eyes with her own dark orbs. “Did you get him?” She asked carefully, afraid to know the answer.
The hand squeezed her own again as Jennifer leaned closer. “He got away.”
A tear fell from Emily’s eyes. She was dead then - he would come for her, and he would kill her team first and then he would come for her. He’d make the branding and staking she took look like a kiss. It was all for nothing. She’d failed to get him and now her team were in danger again and she couldn’t even lift her head by herself let alone help them.
She’d known Ian Doyle eight years previously and spent a long year deep undercover for Interpol trying to nail the ex-IRA man on terrorism charges. But she wasn’t just undercover infiltrating his gang, she went further, infiltrating his life, his family. She became his lover, his gun runner, nanny to his son, and she knew Doyle had feelings for her – for her alias, Lauren – she knew it every time he kissed her, every time his hands caressed her body and every time he spoke softly after their lovemaking.
But what did she feel? Compartmentalisation only went so far, and though his actions made her feel physically sick, it wasn’t that easy to negate a year’s worth of moments and feelings. She often wondered throughout these eight long years, whether she had gone too far, whether she had enjoyed using him, enjoyed being with him. Had she relished the thrill of deceit too much? There had always been a dark side to her, a dangerous streak, so it was oft drummed into her as she grew through her teen years. She enjoyed rebelling against her mother and the transient but privileged life they had just as she enjoyed slipping out, off the grid only a few nights ago, alone, in the night and gunning down Doyle’s gang, with no back up and no safety net.
“We’ll get him.” JJ assured her. “We have a plan.”
Emily scoffed. No, no, it wouldn’t work. She herself had a plan – she found him by herself, and she used his rage to stall him, to distract him, until the team traced them - and still she failed. “Plan? He’s too smart to fall for…”
“You died, Emily.” JJ pressed, the concern for her friend evident in her eyes. “He killed you.” She nodded for emphasis. “In the ambulance on the way here, they lost you for a couple of minutes and again on the operating table. You died and… and we – Hotch and I – we made a decision. As far as the team know, you never made it out of surgery. They believe you’re dead, and we are going to bury you, Emily, and have a headstone in the cemetery, and they will believe - and Doyle will believe that you are dead. And then we’ll get him, because with you dead, he will have no reason to go after us anymore. ”
JJ could sense a ‘but’ coming, so she continued. “If we don’t do this, Emily, he will keep on looking for you, wiping out God knows who – maybe even us – until he finds you. And then he’ll kill you. Again.”
Emily couldn’t quite grasp what she was hearing and her right hand absently started scratching at the fresh brand on her breast as she tried to process this information. “You forgot to mention torture.” She mumbled half to herself.
~Koreans can’t afford tattoos. They brand themselves. The more you fight, the more it’ll hurt~
“Dead? So it wasn’t a dream then?”
Jenifer nodded. “Only Hotch and I know that you’re alive and when you’re fit enough to travel, we’ll get you to Europe. The Bureau will fund you – new passports, bank accounts, new identities for safe houses across the continent and you’ll be safe.”
“What will I do there? I’ll be all alone.”
Jennifer sighed sadly. In all the time she’d known her, Emily had always been solid and strong. She was the person that others would lean on; Emily with her razor sharp wit and guts like you wouldn’t believe. But now, looking at her friend, Jennifer saw only defeat and fear. Emily looked… broken. Bereft.
She smiled and took Emily’s hand again. “I’ll fly over with you, Emily, get you set up. You won’t be alone.”
The tears flowed more freely now of their own volition and Emily couldn’t stop them. “I don’t want to be alone anymore. My friends…”
“Will be there for you when we nail that son of a bitch and can get you back safely.” Jennifer assured her.
“I don’t wanna lie to them.”
“You’re not. I am. It’s the only way to keep you safe, Emily. The only way. You understand that, don’t you? We will get him for you.”
Emily nodded, the effort of waking and the surge of emotion making her wounds ache and her head pound. Despite that, she tried another smile. “Bureau is paying, huh?”
JJ smiled.
Emily shook her head. “I don’t believe you, Jennifer. I’m not that important to them. They wouldn’t open their wallets for me. I think… this is all you. Your contacts – from your new job, right? ”
“You profiling me Emily Prentiss?” JJ smiled. “Listen - We care. We love you, and that’s all that matters, right? That’s what you hold on to.”
“I’m tired.” Emily said weakly.
“Rest.”
“Will you…”
“Stay? Yes. I’ll be here when you wake up, ‘kay?” Jennifer said softly, stroking Emily’s thick black hair away from the wounds and bruises on her face, soothing the woman to sleep.
“I’d like that. I don’t want to be alone.”
Jennifer leant down and kissed her friends’ brow. “I’ll be here, I promise. Get some rest.”
Emily smiled as her eyes closed, and she once again felt like JJ’s child as blackness took her.
~I’m going to take everything that matters to you.~
~You…wanna hear his last words to me? I look pretty good for a dead kid, don’t I?~
She could smell him, that familiar scent. He was ruggedly handsome, but his eyes, his eyes were cold - except for when he was with her, with Lauren. But not now, not since he found out the photos - the ones that had been manipulated, the ones that showed her, Emily Prentiss… Lauren Reynalds… pointing a gun at his infant son’s head – were faked. Those photos were designed to keep the boy’s identity hidden. A faked death – and Doyle believed it. He believed that she had murdered his boy, believed it so completely that he was wiping out Interpol agents’ families , killing their children, to get to her, to make her pay for the perceived murder of his child.
He wanted to punish her and he smiled as he branded her as his own, and that smell, her own burning flesh impregnated her nostrils and in her mind she was there again, in that basement, the basement where she had staged young Declan’s death seven years ago.
It was cold and musty and her saliva and blood mixed with the dust on the ground as she fell to the floor under his fists.
~Just because I held a gun to his head doesn’t mean I shot him~
She spoke through bloodied lips and he kicked her, God he kicked her so hard that she felt a rib break. The pain was like electricity and something happened to her then, something primal - maybe it was self-preservation, or maybe it was the determination to keep that murdering bastard from ever finding his son, or maybe… maybe it was that death wish that her mother always used to tell her she had. Whatever the answer, the fight rose within her and as he was grabbed her, pulled her to her feet and threw her against the wall, she somehow managed to grab a hold of him, her arms locking around his neck, choking him, and she held on knowing her life depended on it. He was grunting under the pressure, and black spots were flickering in front of her eyes as she strained to hold onto him with every ounce of strength that her ailing body still had, and then he was down, prone on the ground and she had a piece of broken wood – a chair leg? – in her hand. It was heavy and she smashed it into his face again and again and again until her body - and his body too – couldn’t take any more. She must’ve dropped it, the pain from her ribs making her head swim for a moment, and in that moment she heard the calls from faraway in the building - ’FBI!’ - and i she thought she was safe – but as she relaxed she saw it in her peripheral vision, saw him reaching for the discarded wooden stake, and then, and then…
…she couldn’t even scream when he stabbed her, the breath just… left her. Everything slowed down, time stood still – for her anyway. She felt immobilised, frozen as she watched him squirm out from under her, rising to his feet as she was dropping, dropping down, falling, it felt like she was falling forever.
“Help me!”
The scream roused a dozing Jennifer and she stroked Emily’s cheek, urging softly “Wake up, Emily, wake up.”
Emily opened her eyes, her heart bursting from her chest, her stitches feeling like they’d been ruptured.
“You’re okay. You’re okay.” JJ soothed.
Emily’s eyes were wide and afraid after reliving her staking. “JJ?”
The blonde nodded. “You had a nightmare but you’re safe.”
“I don’t want to die. I don’t.”
Jennifer frowned. “Hey, hey, I know. Shhh.”
Emily closed her eyes in resignation as Jennifer soothed her. God she felt so helpless, so weak. She looked up into Jennifer’s eyes and nodded her gratitude.
She lay her head against Jennifer’s arm for a while. She felt like a burden, a failure.
You okay?”
Emily nodded. Jennifer was right – there was no other way. Besides, JJ and Hotch already had their plan in motion and her friends, her only friends, thought she was dead. There was nothing else for it than to go along with the ruse. Despite the resignation she felt, she tried to sound positive for her friend. “Europe, huh?”
Jennifer nodded. “Paris sound good?”
Emily smiled wryly. “That’s where I met him, y’know? The first time.”
“We have safe houses there and you’ll have a new identity.”
“Who will know where I am?”
“Only I will know your exact location ’kay? Just me. And when it’s safe, I’ll bring you home.”
Emily nodded, feeling like the surgeons removed not just the stake but her confidence, strength and even her personality from her. The situation was so big, and she was going so far away. “I died, is that what you said?”
JJ nodded. “But you’re back now, Emily, and when you’re healed, you’ll be you again.”
She nodded.
JJ grinned. “You don’t believe me, huh?”
A sigh, and a shrug of bewilderment. “I feel… changed. Like I’m… less somehow.”
“It’ll take time.”
Emily nodded and paused, her brain starting to react, to piece things together. She held Jennifer’s gaze. “You came back for me, JJ. You came back from your new job.”
“I did. I got the call, and I came.”
“Thank you. Your new job, is…”
“Not what I expected.”
That was quick. “You’ve changed too.” Emily noted.
“I have.” There was a sadness, something deep and hidden in Jennifer’s response before she effortlessly shifted the conversation. “I’ll be here, every day until you’re ready to go.”
Emily cursed herself. She was fluent in seven languages and yet couldn’t find the words. The best she could manage was “Thank you.”
“You said that already.” Jennifer teased.
“What will I do in Paris? I guess my bikini on the Riviera days are over.” She added, assessing the new array of scars that were now a part of her.
“There’s always burlesque.”
Emily chuckled, and despite the pain, she was glad of it. “Online scrabble is more my speed at the moment. Unfortunately.”
“Online scrabble.” Jennifer noted. She took Emily’s hand again and fixed her gaze, trying to vicariously transmit strength and hope into her friend. “You listen to me Emily Prentiss and I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna live. That’s an order.”