Author's Note: I'll be the first to admit it - Ian Doyle and Lauren Reynolds hold a very special place in my heart. Naturally, I wanted something extra special for my 99th story; and with the latest news regarding Paget's departure, this gem was all I could think of. Words cannot describe how much I loved writing this story. I can only hope you all will love it as well! As always, thank you so much for reading; you all are the best.

Also: The dream sequence is in italics; present day material is non-italicized.

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its characters.

Emily – no, Lauren – woke to the thrilling feeling of lips hunting across her collarbone. She could feel his breath on her skin, smell his cologne in the air, and hear –

"Rise and shine, love."

Doyle's deep, husky voice echoed throughout the villa's spacious bedroom. He smiled into her hair, then rolled her so that she was facing him, her bared body exposed to his hungry gaze.

Emily burrowed far beneath the covers, humming in protest. "Let me go back to sleep, Ian." Their gazes met. "You wore me out last night."

And then, she smiled. It was seductive, and shamelessly so; and it caught Ian Doyle around the heart.

Doyle chuckled. "I did, did I?" Memories of her, stretched out beneath him, filled his mind; she was writhing, and panting, and arching her back, and screaming his name as he pounded into her… "That's a shame," he said teasingly, his heart pumping madly at the memories. "Because I was really hoping we'd be able to fit in one more round before breakfast; before Declan wakes up." His hand snuck between their bodies. "What do you say, Lauren?"

Her eyes fell closed at his touch. "Or…we could go back to sleep," she managed, internally cursing him for the sinful things he was doing to her body. "Please?" she practically purred.

"I'm afraid not; not today, at least." Doyle's eyes twinkled with mischief. "We've got a big day ahead of us, remember? Lá fhéile pádraig sona duit."

Emily indulged him with a kiss. "Happy St. Patrick's Day to you, too."

Doyle smiled proudly. "I was thinking; after breakfast, the boys and I were planning on headin' down to the Black Shamrock for some green beers. You're welcome to come, of course…even though that's no place for a lady, 'specially one like you." He drank her in appreciatively. "But, that being said, I'd love to show you off. And afterward, we could go someplace nice for dinner – just the two of us."

"Ian Doyle, I never," she teased. "A candlelit dinner?"

But Doyle was serious. "If that's what you'd like," he said earnestly, gazing deep into her eyes.

Emily's expression softened. Slowly, she traced over the lines in his forehead. "Ian, you know you don't have to take me out anywhere. We could just as easily stay in for the night; Declan tells me you're an exceptional cook," she winked.

He laughed warmly. "I do make a mean macaroni and cheese. Other than that, though…" Emily's laughter mixed in with his. "I'll think up something to do," he said after a beat. "I just want today to be special."

"And it will be." Finally, Emily propped herself up on her elbows, her honey brown hair tumbling down her back in elegant waves. "So…" she licked her lips coyly, "one more round, you said?"

Doyle's eyes gleamed satisfiedly as he moved to hover over her. "One round," he agreed. "Or two."

~.~.~

"Why are you leaving so early?"

Emily knelt so that she was at the young boy's height. "Your father has some business to do in town, sweetheart," she said, running her fingers soothingly through his mess of white blonde curls.

Declan pouted a little, then reached out to touch the necklace she was wearing; the Gimmel ring Doyle had given her. "Is that why you're all dressed up?"

"It is." This time, it wasn't Emily who answered; it was Doyle himself. Smiling down at both his son and the woman he loved, he helped her to her feet, then lifted Declan into his arms to give him a kiss. "Be a good boy for Louise, alright?"

But Declan shook his head dejectedly. "Why can't I come with you?" he asked, his blue eyes wide.

Doyle frowned. "Where Lauren and I are going is no place for young boys or girls, Declan. You know that."

"I'm not that young!"

"Son…" Doyle warned.

Thankfully, Emily intervened. "Declan, sweetheart," she crooned, "I'm sorry we have to leave you at home. But when we get back later tonight, we'll make sure to read you a bedtime story; and tomorrow, maybe we can all go somewhere fun. Okay?"

Tears swam in Declan's eyes. "I don't want a bedtime story!" he protested. "I want –"

"Declan, that's enough." Doyle ignored the hand Emily placed on his arm to calm him; and in the blink of an eye, they were in the car, driving off.

Emily downcast her gaze. "You shouldn't have been so hard on him," she said gently.

Doyle's grip on the steering wheel tightened…but then, he sighed. "I know," he murmured. "I don't know what got into me. I just…have a problem with…controlling myself sometimes."

"You have a bit of a temper," Emily agreed, nodding. "But that's okay; because, when it's not directed toward Declan…" she leaned over to kiss his jaw as they stopped at a red light. "I like it," she confessed sultrily.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Do you now?"

"Mm-hmm."

Doyle gazed at her fully, from head to toe. "You know, love, you're making me not want to show you off anymore." He toyed with one of her curls. "You look too good, especially in that dress."

She smirked at the look on his face as she made a show of running her hands over the daringly cut, scissored red and black fabric. "You want me to be for your eyes only?"

"Something like that, yes."

"Then turn around and go back home," Emily said appealingly.

Doyle groaned at the prospect, then shook his head. "If only life were that easy." He nodded out the window and put the car into park. "We're here already." Together, they stepped out of the car, Doyle's arm wrapped possessively around her waist.

The bar was packed. Cigarette smoke danced heavy in the air, but even through the haze, Doyle was able to find the others; his acquaintances, his cohorts, his 'business partners'.

"Gentlemen," he greeted authoritatively as he stood at the foot of the table. "I'd like you to meet my Lauren." The 'my' went unnoticed by no one. Emily scanned the small crowd of men carefully, then spared them a pretty smile. Two of them let out low wolf whistles. "Lauren," Doyle said, ignoring the catcalling, "meet Jack, Luke, Ewan, Shane, Brandon, and Connor."

Shane, one of the whistlers, shot her a dangerous grin. "Pleasure to meet you, darling." The others murmured their agreement. "Join us for a beer or two, won't you?"

Emily glanced back at Doyle, before slipping into one of the few empty seats. "Don't mind if I do."

~.~.~

"Where are you going?"

Emily rested her hands on the back of the chair she had just vacated. "I was just…going to the restroom."

Doyle nodded slowly, then stood as well. "Gentlemen? Excuse me for a minute."

Emily's eyes widened; some of the men snickered. "Ian, what are you –"

But without another word, he took her hand and pulled her along with him to the restroom. It had but a single stall and was conveniently vacated, a fact that Doyle used to his every advantage.

In a flash, he had Emily pressed up against the wall, and was kissing her hard. "Your fucking dress," he rasped against her skin. "I've wanted to rip it off you for the past two hours."

Emily had no choice but to yield to his kisses; and his wandering hands. "Are you drunk?" she panted.

"Lauren, baby," he chuckled, "you know better than anyone that I can hold my liquor."

And at that, he fisted a hand in the damp lace he found beneath her dress and yanked. He was awarded with the sound of a gratifying rip.

"Ian," Emily moaned as he worked at his belt and began undoing his pants. She glanced around the harshly lit bathroom. "Are we really going to do this right here?"

Doyle hooked one of her legs high up on his hip. "The door's locked. I don't see why not, love." And with the fumble of a condom and one sure, steamy stroke, he fused their bodies together in the deepest of ways.

"Son of a –" Doyle muffled the rest of Emily's cry with the coarse palm of his hand.

"Son of a what, Lauren?" he taunted, nipping at her jawbone as he pistoned his hips forward relentlessly. "What was that you wanted to say? You know I love your dirty mouth."

She could taste the alcohol on his breath. "Bastard," she bit out, her eyes sparkling with a dark mischief. "Slow down."

"Mmmm, I don't think I can do that," Doyle said frankly. "Not when I'm so close."

"Already?" Emily teased, kissing the corner of his mouth.

He growled. "You take that back."

She opened her mouth to say something snappy in response; and she would've, too, had she not felt a telltale material rip within her. She gasped once more – and not in pleasure this time. "Ian. Ian, stop. I think the condom just broke –"

But Emily was drowned out by the sound of Doyle's guttural, feral roar; he held onto her tight enough to bruise as he found his release, and within a second, he had her there as well.

Emily's mind was still reeling by the time Doyle was fully redressed. "Come on," he murmured lowly. His voice was filled with dangerous promise and an even baser need – a need to possess, a need to destroy. "I've had enough of this place. Let's go home."

For the first time since she had met him, Emily felt truly scared. Not for herself; because they were going home. Home to Louise, home to Declan.

With the alcohol tainting his father's blood, it was Declan she truly feared for.

Emily woke with a start. Not even a second passed before she had gotten out of bed and was heading down the hallway – to the other bedroom, just three doors away.

Slowly, she tiptoed inside, her gaze coming to rest on the young boy asleep beneath the midnight blue covers. God, she thought. Even my conscience is telling me something.

And it was true. Because as she watched Declan sleep, the emotions she had felt in her dream – the emotions she had felt in that moment, ten years previous – came flooding back. Emily felt the same fear, the same protective instinct, the same love.

Love.

Her heart wrenched slightly as she realized what she would have to do in the end; and if she really thought about it, Emily knew it was what she wanted to do. Tears would be shed. Goodbyes would have to be said once more. But it would be the start of something new; the start of something good.

Emily was backing out of the bedroom when Declan shifted restlessly in bed.

"Emily?"

She moved back so that she was near him, and sat at the foot of the bed. "Sweetheart?"

He rubbed his eyes groggily. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's perfect," Emily assured with a small smile. "I was just…checking on you, that's all."

But Declan knew better. "You had a nightmare, didn't you?"

"Not a nightmare, no," she said hastily. "But –"

"But you dreamt of my dad." It wasn't a question.

Emily didn't bother asking how he knew; she had long since discovered that the boy was just as astute as his father had been. As astute as she was. "Yes."

Declan was silent for a long moment; so silent that, for a second, Emily thought he had gone back to sleep. But once more, his gentle voice reached her ears.

"Did you love him? I mean…" he bit his lip, "I know Lauren did. But did you?"

Emily eyes began to sting. "I – I did," she choked out, her throat constricting with long-denied emotion. It was the first time she had ever said it aloud; in the small room, her words seemed frighteningly loud. "Yes, I loved him."

"And you love me?"

Emily reached forward to smooth down Declan's unruly hair. "I'm shocked you even have to ask me that." She smiled consolingly. "I do love you. Very much so, in fact."

"Even though I remind you of my dad?" the young boy asked almost bitterly.

"Oh, Declan…" Emily's expression softened. "Listen to me. Your father may have done some terrible things in his life; but he loved you with all his heart, and he did everything in his power to make sure you were raised in the best way possible. I know he did. You meant the world to him. And the past is the past; so don't dwell on the unknown, or on the rumors you may hear. Remember him in good light," she whispered.

"I do," Declan whispered back, his thin frame trembling slightly.

Again, silence lapsed between the two. It wasn't uncomfortable…but it was heavy, thick with memories, both good and bad.

Then, finally: "Does your team know?"

Emily gazed at him curiously, her expression matching his almost uncannily. "About you?"

But Declan shook his head. "No…about your decision." He looked up at her with the same clear blue eyes she remembered from a lifetime ago. "You're leaving the Bureau, aren't you?"

Her breath caught in the back of her throat. God, Declan. "They don't know yet." Yet. She tried for a smile – but it didn't quite meet her eyes. "Now go back to sleep, sweetheart."

"Okay," Declan sighed. His head hit the pillow; but as Emily turned to leave, he had one last thing to say. "Goodnight, Em. Lá fhéile pádraig sona duit."

A single tear came down to caress Emily's cheek. "You, too, Declan," she managed. "You, too."

THE END.

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