Title: Identity
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters/Pairing: Emily Prentiss, Ian Doyle - gen
Genre: Angst/Drama
Summary: Emily looked around the bullpen for what she knew would be the last time. Post Valhalla.
Chapter Three
Emily woke up tied to a chair.
To be precise, it was a sturdy, wooden chair, and she was tied at both the wrists and the ankles. Her head throbbed like there was an army of octopi with baseball bats that had taken residence inside the frontal lobe.
In some macabre, fucked up kind of way, this was exactly the way she'd wanted things to go. If Doyle was here, focusing on Emily, then he wouldn't be out there, killing more people With the files in her safe, and the intel that Clyde could give them, the team had everything they needed to track Doyle down. They would track him down – of that, Emily had no doubt. Whether it was soon enough to save her life was another matter altogether.
She didn't know how long it had been since she was brought to this place – no windows, a single door at the end of the room. No furnishings, save for the chair, and the only light came from a single, flickering bulb. The epitome of cliché.
Hours was good, days was better – for catching Doyle, but not for the concussion she was pretty sure she had. After all the head wounds Emily had received over the years, another one would probably kill her.
They'd taken her gun (which wasn't surprising) and her watch (which was a little bit surprising). The way her hands were tied meant that there was no way she could have conceivably checked the time, so it didn't make all that much of a difference.
It was a strange thing, knowing that you'd probably be dead within the next few hours.
The job was a dangerous one – serial killers were not gentle, by any definition of the word, and every time they went out into the field, there was a chance of being shot, or stabbed or blown up.
That was a cliff that they skirted carefully, trying not to fall off the edge. Now, Emily was hanging for dear life by her fingertips, which someone happened to be standing on. Any minute now, she'd fall to her death.
The door swung open, and Emily blinked away the piercing bright light. It was still daytime, but whether that was today or tomorrow was still a matter of contention.
Doyle's expression was stoic – he played things close to the chest, which was half the reason she'd been forced to go undercover in the first place. In a way, he reminded her of Hotch, only Hotch wasn't a ruthless killer.
'Here we are,' Doyle said, his voice even. There was a quiet anger beneath that voice – Emily had seen the result of that anger, but she'd never directly experienced it. She got the idea that was about to change. 'Not a Tuscan villa, I'm afraid, but those days are over, Emily.'
He used her name – her real name – rather than the fake one that he'd known her by. Lauren Reynolds was dead on paper. The only place she lived on was in Doyle's memories, and in Emily's mind.
He pulled a chair into the room and set it across from her. He didn't sit down right away – for almost a minute, he stood, and he stared.
Then, he sat.
'I like Lauren better,' he said, simply, and Emily almost rolled her eyes. Of course he liked Lauren better. He was supposed to like Lauren better. After all, that persona had been constructed to fit his personality. 'She was kinder. She was a better person.'
Emily knew that he was goading her, but she also knew that he was right. Lauren Reynolds was a better person. Lauren Reynolds would have gone to her team, told them what was wrong. Lauren Reynolds wouldn't have snapped at Garcia, wouldn't have brushed off Reid, wouldn't have ignored Morgan's offer for help.
Lauren Reynolds couldn't have taken on Doyle alone, but then, she wouldn't have needed to.
'Do they know?' Doyle asked, and Emily didn't answer. 'Do they know who you are, Emily?'
'No,' she told him, not letting her eyes leave his. But they will.
They'd find her face in the surveillance photos, and they would find the file in the open safe, and they would put the pieces together. They would find out about Emily, but, more importantly, they would find out about Doyle.
That was all the job came down to, in the end.
Working the profile.
Emily trusted them to do that.