Author's Note: This story is inspired by Sylvia Plath's poem of the same name (which I do not own). I know Plath's poem was focused more towards suicide, but I chose to focus solely on the "coming back from the dead" aspect of it. It's something completely different from what I usually write, so I hope you enjoy.
Emily sat in front of the mirror in the hotel bathroom, carefully applying her makeup. Her hair was already done, her preselected outfit hanging on the door of the closet. As silly as it seemed, she had decided to spend a little extra time on her appearance today. Technically she was only dressing for work, but it was far from just another day in the office.
Today was the day Emily Prentiss came back from the dead.
For six months she lived in exile, with only Aaron and JJ aware that she was still alive. Some days Emily felt as though she may as well have been dead. She had been stripped of her identity, her hair cut, her name changed. All her days were spent alone, with online games of Scrabble against JJ or small talk with a stranger serving as her only respite from the solitude. It often seemed as if she were in some living Purgatory, awaiting the decision of her fate.
But now that time was over. Two days ago she received a call from Tom, telling her that Declan was in danger. Without a second thought for her own safety, she packed up what little she had with her in Paris and booked the next flight back to the States. When her flight landed in DC the next night, Aaron informed her that the team had taken Doyle into custody. It was then that Emily knew she had reached her moment of truth. She would finally come face to face with the man who killed her. This would be the final showdown that she had been restlessly awaiting since the day she awoke in a Bethesda hospital.
She had regained consciousness slowly, aware of herself but unwilling to open her eyes. Her body had felt heavy and foreign. Quite honestly, she had no idea where she was. She thought she might be dead. Maybe she was in Heaven. No, definitely not Heaven. Everything hurt too much for it to be Heaven.
It was the pain that convinced her she was still alive. There was ache in her abdomen and a burning in her breast. She opened her eyes and groaned. Her entire body was sore, almost as if she was hit by a truck. At least when she was hit by a truck the team had been there.
The team.
Suddenly it all came back to her. She remembered Doyle plunging the table leg into her stomach. The excruciating, all consuming pain that followed. The terror that overwhelmed her as she bled out on the concrete. And although everything went black shortly after the team arrived, it didn't take much for her to fill in the blanks. She may not have had any memory of what happened in the ambulance, but she had a feeling she was lucky to be alive.
And the team had to see it all happen. Her friends, her family, had to stand by as one of their own was taken out by her mortal enemy. Thank God she had pulled through and they wouldn't have to suffer the guilt of losing her.
Just when she began to think the hospital staff had abandoned her, the door creaked open. A smile spread across her face as JJ stepped into view. The smile quickly faded when she noticed that the blonde wasn't smiling back. She'd known JJ long enough to know that this in itself was a bad sign.
JJ sat in the chair next to the bed and reached for her hand. "Emily, there's something I have to tell you. You're not going to like it."
As usual, JJ was right. But on that day Emily made a promise to herself. Although it was the last thing she wanted to do, she would go into hiding. It was the only way to keep her team safe. She would cut off all contact with everyone she knew, take on whatever identity was given to her. And then she would wait. It didn't matter to her how long it would take. She could wait for years if she had to. Because she knew that one day she would return to DC. And when that day came, she would find Ian Doyle. She wasn't going to be able to kill him now that he was in custody, but she would find a way to make him pay. He had tried to destroy her and now she was prepared to return the favor.
So when she stood outside the interrogation room later that day, Emily was unsurprised to find that she was not afraid. Ian Doyle had already killed her once and she, for all intents and purposes, had risen from the dead. There was nothing he could do to hurt her. Yes, she still had nightmares and sometimes she found herself looking over her shoulder for him, but right now she felt confident. Strong. Lauren Reynolds was dead. Every codename and fake identity she had ever used to protect herself from him was gone. She was done running, done hiding. Emily Prentiss wasn't dead.
Emily Prentiss was alive.
