Flipside
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.
This is a little something that came to mind. Kind of two side of the same coin – I hope. The lyrics, in bold, are from Bruno Mars 'Gernade'.
. . .
Should've known you were trouble from the first kiss
Had your eyes wide open, why were they open?
. . .
Standing in the corner of the room he watched her lifeless body. He knew she wasn't dead, he'd checked, but she wasn't with him yet. He was more than willing to wait; after all he'd waited seven years, what was another one or two?
He drew a chair up behind her slumped body. Admiring the woman he once loved. Gently he moved her dark hair back, exposing part of her pale neck. He couldn't resist running his finger down to the edge of her shirt, touching her for the first time in many years.
Sighing deeply, he breathed in a lung full of her musky perfume. His mind flooded with memories, triggered by the smell. Closing his eyes, he longed to kissed her exposed skin, claim her as his own.
Bitterly he scolded himself, she was never his, it was all a lie. She had played him.
Yet all he could think about was how beautiful she had looked in his bed, her dark hair splayed out across his chest. Mindlessly he begun to fiddle with her hair, the way he use to when they lay together.
With all the horror that had filled his life at that time, Ian Doyle had lived for the moments they shared. She had been his drug of choice. Even now, with years of thought on the matter, he didn't know how she had bewitched him so. But she had.
Ian had learnt not to trust, his childhood had taught him that, the hard way. Life had constantly served him the lesson that there was only one person he could rely on: Ian Doyle. Yet he had trusted Lauren Reynolds, even with the warnings of all around him.
Hindsight was the most amazing thing. In retrospect she had been too good to be true, he could see that now. But at the time she was just too good to resist. To be honest she was still hard to resist. Maybe he wouldn't he thought to himself, one last time wouldn't hurt. Well not him anyway.
As she sat bound to the chair, unconscious, he couldn't help but indulge his memory. He had no intention of letting her see how she made him feel. But while she was here and unaware, he was free to remember.
Remembering the feel of her lips crushing against his with such passion, the way her hands would hold his face as she kissed him so deeply. He remembered the feel of her soft skin under his finger tips, the taste of her as he had consumed her, time and time again. How could she let him do that to her? How could she do what she did, and not feel a thing? They called him a psychopath, incapable of showing emotion. Maybe the profilers should look closer to home!
He had shown emotion, he'd loved her, unlike he'd ever loved before. He could only name one other he had loved, his son Declan. He wasn't incapable, just unlikely.
Unknowingly he caressed her, barely touching her as he moved his fingers down her arms, her thighs. He wanted so much to experience that love again, but knew he never would.
Looking intensely at Emily Prentiss, helpless in front of him, he didn't have the woman he had loved, but her alter-ego, the so called real woman behind the lie. The woman he hated.
Watching as she continued her sleep, anger begun to rise. This was the woman who had ruined it all. She had taken away Lauren Reynolds, she had killed her, and for what? He had given Lauren everything. He was willing to share his life with her, his son with her. He had trusted her that much that she was one of only a handful of people that knew about Declan, and she had destroyed him too.
She would pay.
. . .
Gave you all I had and you tossed it in the trash.
. . .
Closing his eyes he tried to focus. Right now there was no room for personal emotions. Right now he needed to concentrate, he would cope with the fall out later. He knew he wouldn't forgive himself if he missed something out of temper.
Sat on the flight, listening to his colleagues describe the woman he thought he knew, Derek Morgan was struggling to contain his anger. He was angry with her, but also with himself.
Emily Prentiss had been his friend and his partner for five years. It hadn't always been an easy ride, but that was partly what he had liked about Emily. Her honesty, he had to stifle the snort of laughter that threatened to out his train of thought. Emily and honesty – not two words he'd use in the same sentence again.
As they split to work on the separate tasks Hotch had assigned, Morgan found the quiet corner of the plane that he favoured. The file he had in front of him held images of a woman so familiar, but now a complete stranger.
Looking at the photos he smiled, knowing how close he had been to telling her how he felt. Everyone had assumed he had a thing for Pen. Yes, he loved her but not like that, not like Emily, his banter with Pen made flirting with Emily all the easier to get away with. Would it have made any difference if he'd confessed all? Would she of trusted him enough to let him help?
He doubted it. Emily was head-strong and independent. She knew her own mind and was willing to share it. The more he thought about the attributes he admired in her, the more he hated to admit they were more alike than he had ever realised.
One image he faltered at, staring at the beautiful woman in the photograph. How had she done it? How had she got under his radar? He had trusted her, without a doubt. She was one of a handful of people that he trusted with his life, and nearly with much more. Only his professional nature had stopped him.
Morgan didn't trust, not easily. He had long learnt not to. People he had trusted in life had let him down once too often. Trusting people only lead to being hurt. Yet again it had proved to be true.
Right up until the moment she had walked out he was with her. He would have done anything for her; God knows he'd tried to help. But she had pushed him away, unwilling to let him share her burden, thrown their friendship away as if it didn't matter. Could no-one else on the team see she had destroyed the team through trying to protect them? Who could they trust if not each other?
The moment the penny had dropped, as they had pieced together the pieces that led them to realise that Emily Prentiss was Lauren Reynolds, was the bombshell. That she had lied, deceived and rejected them. At that point it had all stopped, and for that he hated her. How could she?
Morgan sighed. He had to focus; he had to push this all to one side. He wasn't profiling a friend he was profiling a stranger.
. . .
Something a little bit different – please let me know what you think I really do appreciate it.
On my profile I have a poll running - the prompt is the Aerosmith song 'Love in an Elevator' - but which pairing should I write it for? Please vote.
