She put him out like the burnin' end of a midnight cigarette
She broke his heart, he spent his whole life tryin' to forget
We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time
But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind
Until the night
It was all a lie. That was the only thing that rattled through his mind in the dank cell. He'd been there for what seemed like years. He was feed little if he was feed at all and it was always the same grimy mush and it tasted like bile as he forced himself to swallow. He hadn't spoken a word. Not to anyone, he was practically mute, only the low grunts when his capters attempted to beat the words out of him. He wondered how long he'd been there, trapped alone in solitude. He convinced himself that this was not enough to break him, he was a warrior.
He was stronger than they were.
They was a nearly numbing ache in his chest. He wanted so bad to hate the woman who'd put him here. He could see her, picture her clearly, could hear her laugh. In his mind's view she was smiling at him, her wild tendrils of hair framing her face as she mouthed words that should have meant nothing to him now. In his vision come along another, a small blonde head belonging to a boy who ravaged his thoughts even more so than the woman. He was suddenly overtook with worry for his young son.
He never wished any harm to the boy. His only goal was to keep him safe from the world, and it's cruelties. Lauren, no, Emily, had had long and drawn out conversations with him about the future of his son. She'd finally wore him down, she had a certain way with words, that woman.
It was a normal, quiet day in the silent countryside where stood the ivy covered tuscan villa, the place he called home. He heard cars pull up, and quickly rushed out to a balcony, just in time to watch them take his fiancée, her velvety voice ringing out before they locked eyes. Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes, and he gave her a slight nod, trying to remain a calm demenour, wishing he could tell her he loved her one last time. He was about to turn to get Declan out of the house, knowing it was a long shot. But, he felt them behind him, and he knew it was over. He closed his eyes, not letting a single tear fall.
At first, he'd no idea where he'd been taken. He never asked about his son, but he asked about Lauren. He wanted her to be safe, he hoped she'd told them that she knew nothing. He hoped that they'd let her go. He hoped that she was safe and sound, warm and happy. He wished for her to be the opposite range of the specturum that he had currently found himself in. That's when they told him.
About Emily Prentiss, about JTF-12.
On the inside his emotions were raging, but then was when he shut down. He didn't know what to think or say. He wanted to hate her, but he couldn't find the will to. They never told him anything about his son. That was the defining factor on deciding what his emotions were towards "Lauren Reynolds", the woman he loved so dearly.
She was the only one aside from Louise who had known about his son, the lack of mention of Declan's name since his imprisonment sparked just a bit of hope, wishing that Emily had not told his secret and that she would take care of him just as he'd asked her to. If he wasn't able to raise his son, she was the best possible mother. He knew she'd lied to him about many things, but love is a very hard thing to fake, especially to a young boy.
He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away her memory
Life is short, but this time it was bigger
Than the strength he had to get up off his knees
We found him with his face down in the pillow
With a note that said, 'I'll love her till I die.'
And when we buried him beneath the willow
The angels sang a whiskey lullaby
He had no idea how long it had been, when they'd came to him. He braced himself, shutting his eyes. Expecting the questions, followed by the pain.
After a few moment had passed in silence, he opened his eyes. He didn't reconize the man before him and tensed, fearing the worst. And the worst is exactly what faith had thrust upon him.
"Ian Doyle," He started, face devoid of all emotion. "do you know this boy?" He pushed out a picture for him to look at.
He felt his heart shatter, an dull pain covering his entire body. He was numb, unable to tear his eyes away for the photo. He wanted to scream until his lungs bled, punch things, he wanted to kill things.
"And this woman?" He thrust out another photo, he didn't exactly have anything left to lose, he thought carelessly before glancing at the picture. Just a glance was enough to assure him before he looked into the man's eyes, feeling tears pour down his face as he rattled his shackles, letting out a soundless scream. The man got up, backing away.
"That will be all, Mr. Doyle. We'll talk tomorrow, I'm sure." He said, and Ian could feel the rage bubbling over as they left him alone. Alone was what he was now. He was truely alone, no one outside of this facility cared about him, and he had nothing left to lose. He wept for what seemed like forever, before his sorrow was overcome by anger. Anger at who ever would have killed an innocent little boy. His innocent little boy and his Lauren. He didn't understand, Emily had worked for them. His thoughts were so jumbled he couldn't think straight, he couldn't piece together his own mind. He couldn't process anything, maybe what they'd said about Lauren was a lie, what if she was just another innocent dragged into this web of lies.
He went hollow, absolutely cold and empty inside. He had made a decision, and with that, he worked to unshackle as least one hand.
And when the photo showing man returned the next day, he came carrying his food. Ian sat motionless, knowing his plan. Knowing what he had to do. To his good luck, the man had come alone, his guard down. His gun was exposed on his hip, just like yesterday. The door shut behind him, he was sure that Ian couldn't hurt him. He was wrong.
He put the tray of the mush they passed off as food in front of him. He was close to his face, a smug smile curling his thin, chapped, lips.
He studied the man for a brief moment before he spat in his face, immediatly reaching for his gun. The man swore before, with one unsteady hand, Ian Doyle had shot him dead. Ian could hear the guards coming, they would kill him for sure.
"See you soon, loves." Were the last words that Ian Doyle ever spoke, before he put the barrel of a loaded .44 in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
The rumors flew but nobody knew how much she blamed herself
For years and years she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath
She finally drank her pain away a little at a time
But she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind
Until the night
The cold plastic of the phone clattered to the floor. Faintly, she could hear her name being called from the other end. Clyde's voice was far away now as she made her way over to her couch, sitting down to put her face in her hands.
Clyde had told her the whole story. The Korean's, in order to break Ian, munipilated photos of her and Declan, forcing him to believe that they were both killed. She couldn't even imagine his pain, thinking he'd lost Declan. She didn't think he'd care as much about her death, as he had every right to hate her. Declan was out with Louise for the day, and she paced in the living room for what she thought was hours, just crying. Finally she went to put the phone back on it's reciever.
Tears were falling endlessly, and she almost didn't understand why. She'd tried to push Ian out of her head but he was always there, blue eyes alight with life.
She was digging around in her fridge, returning to the couch before she began swigging back bottles, letting the liquid burn down her throat. It was like she was trying to fill the dull ache in her chest, trying to numb down the pain.
And even with empty bottles thrown carelessly all around her, the pain didn't lessen.
She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away his memory
Life is short, but this time it was bigger
Than the strength she had to get up off her knees
Emily walked to her bedroom silently, a ghost in her own house. She knew she was to blame for all of this. She practically found herself ripping her dresser drawer open, pulling out her glock. Along with a single picture.
It was a hot, summer day. And Ian had taken them to one of his small cottages, where they spent the day on the beach. She'd brought her camera, wanting to get some good shots of the open ocean. The one picture that she truely valued from that trip was a simple one, one she wasn't even sure Ian knew she took. Declan had made his variasion of a sand castle, sitting on his father's lap, an excited grin on his face. Ian wasn't exactly smiling, but there was a small curl to the corners of his mouth as he looked at his son, the look of pure love etched on his face. That was when she'd truely fallen for him.
She was clutching the photo, making sure not to crush it as she pressed it to her chest. She mumbled a soft apology, to no one in purticular.
She'd left a note. Addressed to Declan, hoping he'd read it whenever he was old enough to understand. Her nerve ending felt like they were on fire as she gripped the gun in her hand, everything appearing as if in slow motion as she brought the end of the barrel against her temple, and after a shaky breath, she squeezed down the trigger.
We found her with her face down in the pillow
Clinging to his picture for dear life
We laid her next to him beneath the willow
While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby