Reflections
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.
This is set post 'Lauren'. Emily is doing her best to keep her head down and appear dead. But Clyde Easter needs her help one last time.
. . . .
"True friendship is like sound health; the value of it is seldom known until it be lost."
Charles Caleb Colton
. . . . . . .
Emily sat nervously at the table. She didn't know what she was expecting. Clyde had contacted her, letting her know what he expected, but not letting her know what to expect.
She added two sugars to the black coffee in front of her. She had never liked sugar in her coffee, but the meds made her crave sweetness, must be to counteract their bitterness. As she stirred in the sugar her mind flitted to Reid and his sugar cravings. She wondered if his headaches were any better, if he had managed to talk to anyone else about it. A day did not pass without her thinking about the team. No matter which country she was currently calling 'home' some daily action remaindered her of what she had lost.
Her patience was wearing thin. She was supposed to be here by now. Emily looked around nervously. No matter how much she hated the enforced solitude that her death had bought, she had become overtly apprehensive of public places. No-one had her back here.
Looking up she noticed a toned raven haired girl walking towards the cafe. Her breath hitched - Clyde had to be kidding.
The girl walked purposely towards Emily and sat down opposite her. To any passer by the two would look like sisters. Emily was surprised that two perfect strangers could look so alike. She briefly wondered if it was possible, on her mother's travels, for her to have had a love child, and left that child to be brought up aboard. Then she remembered it was her mother; the perfect example of ambassadorial etiquette.
The stranger seemed unaffected by their similarity, but Emily couldn't get over the feeling she was looking in a mirror. Reluctantly she admitted to herself it was more like an image of her ten years ago, not a reflection of the woman she was today. But still the likeness was beyond spooky.
"Catherine?" the woman asked softly.
Emily froze. She hadn't once stumbled on the use of her new name, until now, but the flood of feelings this woman invoked over took all reason.
"Oui," she finally managed.
"Bonjour, je suis Michelle," the stranger introduced herself.
Gathering her thoughts together and trying desperately hard to concentrate, Emily continued the conversation in French.
"Clyde recommended you visit, for your vacation then?"
"Indeed, he said you would be more than happy to tell me all I need to know, about the area."
Emily knew they were both skirting around the real issue, the issue that they could not discuss in public.
"I could give you a brief tour tonight. Then maybe you could come and see me tomorrow, to go into more detail," Emily offered.
"That sounds good to me," Michelle smiled.
. . . .
When Emily got back to her small villa later that evening she was confused. Part of her wanted to grab Michelle and shake her, the other half admired her. She wasn't sure she would have faced Doyle the first time, if she was fully aware of all it would entail.
Sitting outside, with a large glass of red wine, Emily couldn't help but wonder if that was what she was like, when she first joined Interpol. She remembered how head strong and determined she had been back then. They probably did warn her, but as always, she heard what she wanted to hear. Was it that keenness that had led her to take the path she did? Or was that always her fate? Emily had never been a believer in fate. Not until she had been exiled. Then she looked at any possible explanation that led to her life of solitude.
Sipping the wine slowly she looked back over the choices she had made. Trying to pick out what had motivated her to follow the direction she had. She snorted as she realised that most of the decisions she had made in her teens and twenties resolved around aggravating her mother. She truly was a rebel without a clue back then.
But since joining the BAU she had calmed. She no longer felt the pressure to prove who she was to her mother. Her colleagues were more important than her mother had ever been. All she had ever wanted was their approval, their respect. She knew the reason she had originally been given the job in the BAU, Strauss wanted an in house spy, but Emily had ignored that. Emily had fought every step of the way, until she was truly one of them, one of the family. Yet when she had needed them most, she had thrown everything they had given her back at them. She had left them, without an explanation. She had caused them to grieve, for their own protection. She had done it for them, but they would never know that.
As she sat there lost in her own thoughts Derek Morgan's final words came back to her:
"I am so proud of you. Do you understand that? I am proud of you because you are my friend and you are my partner. No Emily, come on, stay with me."
Maybe they did know, maybe they did understand why she did what she did.
Emily hadn't realised how tightly she had gripped the wine glass until the stem snapped, cutting into her hand. She looked down at the blood, the pain barely registering with her. She watched as the first drip hit the floor. It should be her facing him again, it was her battle not anyone else's.
. . . .
Michelle returned to her hotel room. She had seen photos of Emily Prentiss as she needed to be able to recognise her to meet tonight. Looking in the mirror at her own reflection she couldn't help but wonder if she had seen a flash of her own future tonight. Ten years down the line would she be alone, bitter and scared.
Before meeting Emily, Michelle had felt on top of the world. She was good at her job and well known for it. She enjoyed the challenge – both physically and mentally. It was all she lived for, but was she ready to die for it?
Meeting Emily made her question her life for the first time. She was willing to take on this case, to go after Doyle and get close enough to kill him. She maybe barely thirty, but he wouldn't be her first assassination. Probably not her last – if she survived.
She had read the notes and reports; she knew what Doyle had done to Emily. Would she really be able to get close enough to him to do this? As Clyde had explained, this had to be close at hand, not long range. Someone had to put a bullet between his eyes. There could be no doubt that he was dead. Yet getting that close to him put herself at risk. If he figured out whom she was then he would kill her, then she could only hope he did it quickly.
Michelle had never questioned an assignment before, but right now she wondered if Clyde was thinking straight; after all his life was also dependent on Doyle dying.