Author's Note: (No subsequent notes will be even close to this long.) As indicated in the summary, this is a sequel to my previous story "Into the East" but it is not necessary to read that entire story to understand this one. If you did read it, skip the rest of this paragraph. If not, here is all you need to know: That story follows Criminal Minds cannon up through Prentiss taking the job as the head of INTERPOL's London Office and Blake filling the position vacated by Prentiss at the BAU. In the story, Prentiss goes to Cairo to help evacuate her mother when the U.S. Embassy to Egypt comes under attack. She gets help from a Rome-based INTERPOL agent named Victor Polizzi who is of mixed Italian and Egyptian ancestry. After the mission to the Embassy (which ends successfully, though Prentiss sustains a gunshot wound to her hip), Prentiss offers Polizzi a position as an intelligence analyst in her London Office. In the Epilogue, it is revealed that Polizzi accepted the position, but shortly thereafter, he and Prentiss found that they were mutually attracted to one another. He quits INTERPOL to take a job at Scotland Yard so he and Prentiss can date. By the end of the story, Prentiss and Polizzi are engaged, ten months after they meet.
Essentially, the timeline plays out as follows: "Into the East" takes place in early 2014, with Prentiss and Polizzi engaged by Winter 2014 and married in late Spring 2015 (Prentiss does not change her last name). This story takes place in London around late Fall/early Winter 2016. It follows a more traditional CM serial killer case format with primary focus on Prentiss and Polizzi, substantial appearances by Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan and some pinch-hitting from the rest of the BAU team. For anybody who read "Into the East" I anticipate this story will be of similar length, but with more and shorter chapters. I know the ink is hardly dry on that story, so to speak, but I got this one buzzing in my head, and I'm impatient.
Okay, I'll shut up now. I hope you enjoy!
"I still say it doesn't count, Emily," Victor protested.
He and Emily exited the elevator on the twelfth floor of the loft building where the couple now shared the flat that Emily purchased for herself when she moved to London four and a half years prior. His royal blue Italian National Football Team sweatshirt was splotched in a few places by the handful of rain droplets that had fallen on them on the way home. Because the weather was supposed to be clear that night and the pub was just around the corner, they had neglected to grab their umbrellas – always a mistake when living in London, but not a major one this night. To Victor, the mild annoyance of being lightly rained upon for a couple of blocks paled in comparison to the agony of the bet he just lost over an international football friendly.
"What do you mean it doesn't count?" Emily scoffed at her husband. "It definitely counts. You made the bet. You lost. You get to take it out."
"It was the last minute of stoppage time and Italia was playing its second and third string reserves all night," he argued. "If we had our starters, that game is over by the 70th minute or sooner. I guarantee it."
"Victor, your exact words were, 'If the U.S. wins this match, I will take out Sergio's litter box.' You said nothing about stoppage time or reserves," she countered.
He began good-naturedly muttering curse words under his breath in Italian as he grabbed a glass from the kitchen cabinet and drew some water from the tap.
"I heard that," she chided him.
"Alright, alright," he said, smiling a bit begrudgingly at Emily, who made to grab a glass of her own. "I'll take out the box."
"Just do me a favor and change out of that shirt," he said, indicating Emily's navy blue United States Soccer pullover. "You're just rubbing it in."
"You bought me this shirt for my birthday," she reminded him. "Even though you know I still don't care about sports. I only go along with this soccer business because I love you."
"Okay, first of all," he said, feigning great offense, "how many times to I have to tell you, it's football. Foot-ball. Second, I also bought you a first-edition Vonnegut for your birthday, if you recall. Third, if you loved me, you wouldn't make me take out your cat's litter."
"Right, right, football. And yes, I do remember the book and it was sweet," she said, leaning over and lightly pecking his bearded cheek. "And I love you enough to trust that you will be a man of your word and take out the litter box instead of being a poor sport."
"You win," he relented. "Going now."
As Victor left to change the box in the other room, a slender black cat leaped up onto the kitchen counter beside where Emily stood.
"Did you hear that, Sergio?" Emily asked, scratching behind the cat's ears. "Your cat. He still doesn't want to claim you."
The cat rubbed appreciatively up against her arm. Emily indulged him for another minute, then set her empty glass in the sink. Momentarily pausing to glance out at the magnificent London skyline from the living room – Emily still hadn't tired of that view – she made her way to the bedroom to change for the night. A few minutes later, Victor returned.
"All done," he announced.
"See, that wasn't so hard. Come to bed."
Just then, a phone rang out from the top of the dresser. Emily covered her eyes and sighed at the familiar sound. At this time of night, it was rarely good news.
"Yours or mine?" she asked.
"Mine," he answered, pulling his phone off of the dresser.
"Polizzi," he answered.
Emily sat down on the bed as she listened to her husband reply to the unheard end of the conversation with the familiar pattern of "Yeah," and "Oh, God," and "I'll be right there."
"I assume this means you will not be coming to bed," Emily asked when Victor finally hung up the phone.
"You would be correct," he replied. "Homicide of a University College student."
"Homicide?" Emily questioned. "Why do they need you? You only handle it if there's was an international element involved."
"I don't know," he replied. "They just said they need me and it didn't really seem like they were inviting argument. I need to go change."
Victor grabbed some clothes from the closet and headed into the bathroom. A few minutes later, he emerged in black slacks and a white-button up shirt.
"Do you think I really need a tie?" he asked Emily.
"For a crime scene at midnight? Probably not," she answered. "Grab that red diamond pattern one just in case."
"The one my sister gave me? I thought you hate that tie," he responded, perplexed.
"I do. That's why I'm telling you to wear it in the dark."
"Very funny," he replied, grabbing the tie in question before leaning over go give Emily a kiss.
"Be careful," she admonished him. The two had reached an unspoken agreement long ago not to fret out loud too much over one another's jobs so as not to drive each other crazy, but both of them worried when the other went out on a call and neither could resist at least a small word of caution.
"I always am," he reminded her. "Hopefully I'll be back in a few hours. Get some sleep."
"I'll try. Goodnight. Love you."
"No, I love you," he retorted, as he strode out the door.
Despite the unwanted interruption, Emily managed to drift off fairly easily. She herself had to be at the office in the morning, and a day in the life of an INTERPOL agent was a lot easier with sleep.
A restful night proved elusive, however, as she was soon jarred out of her sleep by the ringing of her own phone. Without even looking over to see the identity of the caller, she grabbed the phone and pressed against her face.
"Prentiss," she answered reflexively.
"Emily, it's me," her husband answered.
"Victor?" she said, suddenly alert as she clicked on the bedside lamp. "What's the matter, are you alright?"
"Yeah," he confirmed. "I'm fine. But, I, uh, I need you down here."
"At the crime scene? Why?" she pressed, confused.
"Well, the murder is pretty grizzly and it's the second of its type, they think it might be a serial."
"Okay, I still don't see why they brought you into it. What do you need from me?"
"Well, that's where the international bit comes in," he replied. "The m.o. and signature are identical to those of a series of murders on a college campus in the United States in 2007. According to the records we have, you and your team at the BAU worked the case."
"Shit," she muttered under her breath.
"You there, Emily?" Victor asked.
"Text me the address," she said firmly. "I'm on my way."
Annndddd, we're off! I hope you enjoyed Chapter 1. In Chapter 2, we'll specifically address which case we're talking about (bonus points if you've guessed already), get some of the BAU involved, and get going! Thanks for reading! Comments/suggestions welcome as always!