Author's Note: I originally planned on making this story a one-shot, but then I realized that there was so much more about Lauren Reynolds to be told. So much more to be written. So, since everyone has been wondering about Emily's other two tattoos - myself included - I decided to run with that idea and create a memory that could have happened and, for all we know, did. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: If I owned Criminal Minds, Paget (and AJ, for that matter) would stay on the show forever.
Ian trailed his fingers across Emily's bare spine, his gaze set on her face as she let out a pleased sigh and tossed him a smile.
"Ian…"
"Hmm?"
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice still groggy from sleep.
"Admiring your gorgeous body." There was a pause. "And trying to decipher the meaning of your two tattoos." He pressed his lips to her shoulder, right above the ink there. "Why a phoenix?"
"Freedom and invincibility," she said simply, her chocolate brown eyes burning into his. "I got it on my eighteenth birthday. Phoenixes, when they die, are born again from their ashes. It's kind of a safety net for me, you know? Goes well with the job description," she said with a wry chuckle. "The symbolism of indestructibility and recovery. Also, like most birds, they can fly away. I couldn't until then. It was like a personal rebellion against my parents, I guess," she said with an elegant shrug, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
He fell quiet, his mind somewhere else.
"What are you thinking about?"
He chuckled softly. "I'm trying to imagine a teenage Lauren Reynolds."
Emily scoffed. "Don't bother. I was a strange child – not at all like I am today." Certainly not, she added. Emily Prentiss wouldn't fall in love with an arms dealer. No, that's all Lauren. Lauren, not Emily, she assured herself.
"Everyone's strange at that age," Ian mused, his eyes travelling to her lower back, his lips not far behind. "And…this one?" he murmured against the sensitive skin there.
"Got it the summer after I graduated college and got accepted into the aca –" Oh shit, that's too much. Too much information.
Doyle, pre-occupied with peppering kisses everywhere on Lauren's body – Lauren, not Emily – didn't notice her fumble. "Where'd you go to college?"
"Brown," Emily answered without hesitation, immediately spitting out the first college that came to mind. "
Any college but Yale.
"Hmm…interesting. 'Féminité, bravoure, intégrité'," he read aloud. Chuckling, he said, "For a second there, I thought it was 'fidélité, bravoure, intégrité', and I was about to…" He trailed away, not noticing Emily's sigh of relief.
He hadn't made the connection. Calm down, Emily. Calm down.
"Why is it in French?" he continued, his curiosity apparently never-ending.
"I went to France that summer," Emily explained, clearing her voice to stop it from quavering. "A couple of friends and I. We each chose three nouns that defined us. And well…those are mine."
He nodded. "You chose well."
She closed her eyes, remembering the real reason of the tattoo. After being accepted into the Academy, her parents had given her money and she had travelled to France alone. There, she had gotten 'fidélité, bravoure, intégrité'; the motto of the FBI. It was a…celebration, of sorts. But after working a couple of years in Chicago and seeing her partner get gunned down right in front of her…she realized she couldn't remain conscientious in a world where fidelity, faithfulness, loyalty…where that all meant nothing. Where innocent people were shot for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or for absolutely no reason at all.
Rules were meant to be broken, after all.
It was then that she had become the full fledged rebel she was today. So, years later, she changed 'fidélité' to 'féminité.' It was hard to be a woman, especially a beautiful one, in a testosterone-fueled environment like the FBI, where everyone expected you to be one of the boys. Her tattoo, therefore, became a daily reminder of who she was, and of the morals that guided her through life, day after day.
At once, she became aware that Ian was calling her.
"Lauren?"
"Oh. Sorry."
He looked at her intently, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Now who's deep in thought?" he teased. "Falling asleep on me…you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Miss Reynolds," he added, feigning disappointment.
"My sincerest apologies. Although, if I remember correctly, you woke me from an extremely good nap. So, I believe it is you who ought to be ashamed, Mr. Doyle," she retorted smartly, a ridiculously beautiful smirk dancing across her lips.
"You're right," he admitted, raising his hands in defeat. "I'm sorry, love." He brushed her hair away from her face idly. "Go back to sleep; I'll be here when you wake."
Great, she thought sarcastically. "Good," she answered instead, shooting him a tired smile before closing her eyes once more and chasing her demons away.
~.~.~
"Why are you doing this?" Emily asked weakly, regaining consciousness. Her skin was still on fire from the brand Doyle had given her. "Why are you keeping me alive?"
He said nothing, focusing instead on re-buttoning her blouse. Liam entered then, bringing with him news that made Emily's blood run cold.
"Hey. FBI grabbed Fahey. Her people. It won't be long until he starts grilling, and they're banging on our door." He pulled out a gun and motioned for Doyle to take it. "Do what you have to so we can get the hell out of here."
Ian stood, eying the gun with interest, the expression on his face one of serious contemplation.
And that worried Emily. A lot.
"I know what you want," she said instantly, her voice cracking slightly.
"Do you really?" Ian retorted, his gaze still on the gun.
"You want Lauren Reynolds back. I can do that," she said, her eyes pleading as she looked up at him. "I can be her."
Finally, he looked her in the eyes. "You think that'll save your skin?" he asked incredulously.
She shook her head, the action causing her hair to fall in her face. "I have no illusions. But I'm tired of this." A beat of silence passed. "Of being afraid."
Ian studied the woman in front of him. She was almost in tears…but she was a damn good actress, that much he had learned from her when she had been undercover.
When she had been Lauren Reynolds, the love of his life.
No, he wouldn't let this woman, this…this…temptress get to him any longer. Those days were long gone.
"We don't have time for this," Liam scowled.
"We'll make time," Ian said lowly, the tone of his voice not allowing for any argument. His eyes still burned into Emily's, and it was beginning to make her extremely uncomfortable. Even more so than being bound to a chair by her hands and feet.
Ian had always liked being in control.
"What about Fahey?" Liam asked, once again breaking the tension and bringing them back to reality.
"I'll take care of Fahey."
The same way you took care of me that day in the SUV? Emily wanted to ask. I highly doubt it.
Needless to say, she kept her mouth shut.
"He smokes, right?" Doyle continued.
"Aye."
Turning his attention back to Emily (it hadn't been gone long), he smiled bitterly and said, "Looks like you earned yourself a reprieve."
And Emily could do nothing but wait.
