A/N 1: I know some folks are hating Ian Doyle, but I have to admit, I'm having fun writing this guy and his conversations with Hotch. Thanks again for the reviews and kind words on the story. Its very encouraging!
Hotch froze, his breath caught in his throat. "I don't know what sick game you're playing Doyle, but Emily is gone. Maybe this is remorse showing. You regret killing her so you've fabricated this elaborate fantasy where she's alive."
Doyle sighed and rolled his eyes. He bent down and leaned his hands on the arms of Hotch's chair. Their faces were close together as blue locked onto brown. He spoke softly, again that Irish lilt making his voice sound almost soothing.
"You're a profiler, are you not? You're used to dealing with the sickos and crazies of the world, so I forgive you for not immediately recognizing that I am a sane man who doesn't see unicorns flitting about telling me to murder little old ladies in their beds. If I was, I wouldn't have the extensive network I do or the men who work so loyally for me. I don't imagine things and I don't feel remorse." He pulled back and leaned against the small table, crossing his arms in front of him.
"It was really quite smart of her," Doyle continued as Hotch digested his words. It had become that now, a dialogue between this man and Aaron. Rossi and Morgan had faded into the background for him. His entire focus was on Hotchner, at least until he had Emily.
There was something in the other man's dark gaze and face that let him know there was something more in his heart for Emily than mere friendship. He had seen that look before. Was it not the same one he had worn on his own face at times when he thought of Lauren? What Emily felt for Hotchner, Ian did not know, but he'd be damned if another man coveted what was his.
"If she remained alive, I wouldn't have allowed her or any of you peace." He smiled in mock apology. "Sorry, but ah, all's fair in love and war. No, the fake death was very smart, but the stroke of absolute genius was not letting any of you know. Your grief, your mourning, all of it, so real because you thought it was. But all this time, dear Emily was simply pulling the strings, manipulating all of us."
A ghost of a smile played on Hotch's lips and it threw Ian. He glared at the dark-haired man, puzzled by his reactions.
"You find something amusing?"
"For a man who professes to know Emily Prentiss so intimately," Hotch sneered out that last word, "You fail to know who she really is. She wasn't manipulating anyone or anything. She was doing what Emily does, protecting the people she loves." He eyed Doyle triumphantly. "She loves us. She was protecting us because she loves us."
They watched a flurry of emotions, anger, hurt, annoyance, flit across his face. His jaw tensed and they saw him move it a little as he rolled his neck, trying to regain control.
"You know, Agent Hotchner," Doyle began as he fished something out of his jacket pocket, a folded piece of paper that appeared to be well creased from much handling. "You and I aren't all that different. In fact, we have many things in common."
"I have nothing in common with you," Hotch spat out, repulsed by the idea that he shared anything with this man.
"Well, there is Emily," Doyle replied coyly. He unfolded the paper from his pocket and flipped it around to show the other men, but specifically Hotch. The BAU leader froze when he saw what it was. "You've been carrying around this photo for a while judging by the creases in it. Now, tell me, how can you say we have nothing in common when it appears that you would like nothing better but than to have Emily mother your child much like I wanted her to do with Declan?"
The photo had been taken on Jack's first birthday after Haley's death. His team had rallied around him, coming to the little boy's party, helping Jessica out with the preparations and providing additional adult supervision and distraction so he would not have to do anything but concentrated on his son. Garcia had been madly snapping digital photos the entire time and after the party had given Hotch both an electronic and hard copy of the event in the form of a lovely bound book she had gone through the trouble of laying out and having printed up to memorialize the event. Most of the photos had been of Jack and himself, but she had included some of the team, typically in group shots. But not this one.
He remembered when it had happened. The party had been at a park, a sunny, warm day that brought a little normalcy in their lives. Rossi along with Will Lamontaine were working the grill along with another parent of one of the child guests. Jessica and JJ were supervising some of the children playing some game with Morgan while Reid entertained a few children and adults alike with his magic tricks. Garcia had been flitting from group to group taking pictures. But Emily was sitting alone, under the shade of a tree and on a blanket. Hotch, exhausted from running around threw himself down next to her. She gazed at him in amusement.
"Feeling a little worn down, Agent Hotchner?" she teased.
He gave her his best mock glare. "You try running after a just turned five year-old," he drawled out. He closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm getting too old for this."
Emily chuckled. "I've seen you chase after twenty-something UNSUBs for blocks without breaking a sweat, but a five year old boy has you licked."
He allowed a small grin to appear on his face and he scooted up into a sitting position, his hands clasped in front of him as his arms rested on his bent knees. They were silent as they watched Morgan suddenly swing Jack up in his arms and twirl him around. The boy screamed in delight and when Morgan stopped, he cried out, "Again, Uncle Derek! Again!"
Hotch's smile faltered and a look of sadness that he often hid, but Emily knew always lurked beneath the surface appeared on his face in this one unguarded moment.
"You're doing great," she said gently. When he looked at her questioningly she reached out to place a gentle hand on his arm. "Jack. You're doing a terrific job with him. You're a good father, Aaron Hotchner, never doubt that."
"It's just that, sometimes, it all seems overwhelming," he whispered, his eyes never leaving his laughing child. "That it's almost too much for me to handle."
"You're not alone, Hotch," Emily continued as she followed his gaze. "Jessica and the team. Your family is here. You don't have to do this alone."
He turned to look at her and gazed at her profile. Feeling his eyes on her, Emily turned her head and gave him a small smile. A breeze blew a few dark, silken strands across her face, emphasizing even more the creamy paleness of her skin. She had worn a dark pink dress today, something soft and devastatingly feminine, surprising Hotch since he was used to seeing her in her professional and efficient work wear. But it suited her and her name, Emily Rose, for she did look like a rose in her pink dress with her dark hair and delicate skin. Hotch felt a small stirring in a part of him that he thought was long dead and cold as he gazed into her warm, dark eyes.
Hotch didn't know what would have happened next and he would never find out as a small missile suddenly barreled into them.
"Daddy!" Jack cried as he threw himself at the two adults, disrupting whatever the moment was they were having between them.
Both of them laughed, in amusement, maybe in relief and maybe in regret.
"Did you see me fly? Uncle Derek played airplane with me!" Jack squealed in delight as he wriggled about.
Hotch laughed and tried to corral his active child who was hopped up on excitement and unfortunately more sugar than he was used to. "I did, buddy," Hotch replied as Jack continued to squirm about.
"Did you see, Emmy? Did you?" Jack asked excitedly as he eluded his father's grasp to launch himself into Emily's arms and lap.
She laughed and got her arms around him to draw him close to her. "I did. And boy, did you really go high! While Uncle Derek is good, I bet you that Daddy probably does the best at playing airplane, right?"
Jack nodded solemnly as some of the sugar rush left him and he cuddled closer into Emily. A lump formed in Hotch's throat as he watched his son burrow closer into the woman's embrace. He knew that while Jessica loved Jack, his child still saw her as Aunt Jessica and had placed her firmly in the role of an aunt and no more. JJ was preoccupied with her own child and Garcia, while a favorite of Jack's, didn't really equate to mother material in the little boy's eyes. So Jack had been drawn to Emily in the wake of Haley's death. Given the lack of women in Hotch's life, it was inevitable that the boy would lock onto her warmth, compassion and loving nature when he looked for someone to fill that motherly role.
She raised her eyes and saw the conflicting emotions in Hotch's face. Emily smiled reassuringly. She had told him before she hadn't minded Jack's attachment to her, that he would sometimes out of the blue ask Hotch to call "Emmy" and when Hotch couldn't divert Jack's attention to something else, he would dial her number. Everyone else on his team was "uncle" or "aunt", but the little boy had his own nickname for Emily Prentiss, a name that Hotch noted was close to "mommy". "He's fine right here, aren't you buddy?" Emily said softly as he turned his nose into her neck.
Jack nodded. "You smell nice, Emmy."
Emily laughed softly and for a moment, Hotch felt a flash of envy for his son who was allowed the opportunity to burrow his nose into the crook of Emily Prentiss' neck and inhale what he knew would be a sweet and devastating scent.
"This is so cute!" Garcia burst out as she came upon the tableaux. "Okay, sir, get in closer so I can get a picture!"
Hotch hesitated, but then scooted over closer to Emily and Jack. Then in a decision that some part of him chastised him for even considering while another part of him cheered him on, he wrapped his arm around Emily's shoulders and drew her closer to him. Instinctively, their heads touched as they leaned towards each other and Jack turned around to look into the camera.
That was the picture that Doyle held in his hands now and Hotch could not help but feel that just by touching it, the man was soiling that beautiful memory he had been carrying around with him.
"Pretty family picture, no?" Doyle continued as Hotch remained silent. He gazed at the photo and continued to speak in a soft voice. "No, Agent Hotchner, we aren't all that different. This is what I wanted as well. A beautiful woman to love, a mother to my boy." He flipped the photo around towards Hotch again. "Tell me that you don't crave this? Want this perfect picture. Want her to love and cherish your child and then to have her to love and be cherished in your bed. That's all I ever wanted." His eyes hardened and he leaned forward. "And then the bitch betrayed me!" Doyle spat out. "Took my son away and continues to keep him away from me. Can you honestly say that if she had done the same to you, you wouldn't hunt her down, make her pay?"
"No," Hotch replied calmly, his famous iron control coming into play as his emotions warred with each other internally. "Because that would have never had happened in my case. Unlike you, it would have never had come to that with my child. You deliberately placed your son in the line of fire with your work and selfishly kept him there. When that happened with me, I loved my son enough to let him go, to protect him. That's why we're not the same, Doyle. I love my son. You simply possessed him, just like you only want to possess Emily."
He didn't have time to prepare himself for the punch that Doyle let fly. He landed two more punches as Derek and Rossi cried out in anger. Doyle pulled back as a trickle of blood flowed from a cut on Hotch's lip. The FBI man grinned at him.
"Truth hurts, doesn't it, Doyle," Hotch taunted.
Ian took some deep breaths even though he was still trembling with rage. He rubbed a hand over his face and then shot Hotch a dark look. "Ah yes, when your son went into the witness protection program. Considering your experience with that, you would think you would have caught on to Emily's ruse two years ago. They had to leave because of, what was he called? The Reaper, correct?" Ian picked up something from the table and the men could see it was a large hunting knife. "What precipitated that was an attack on you in your own home, was it not? Nine stab wounds from what I understand?"
Doyle's intent became clear and while Hotch gazed back at him unemotionally, Derek went into a frenzy.
"You son of a bitch!" the other agent shouted. "If you were any type of a man, you'd untie me now and we'd settle this! You stay the Hell away from him! You bastard!"
Doyle ignored him as he gazed at Hotch. "Nine stab wounds. Hmmm, all missing vital organs." He bent down to look at Hotch. "Let's see if I'm as good with anatomy." He pressed the tip of the knife against Hotch's side.
Emily sighed as she sat alone in Hotch's office. She gazed out into the bullpen as everyone bustled about, thinking they were accomplishing something, but knowing that they were only killing time, waiting until Ian Doyle made his move.
She hated this, the waiting, the helplessness, but knew that nothing could be done about it. She sighed again and began to root around in Hotch's files, sure that he would have the most complete information on Doyle that the team had gathered in the past two years. Maybe there was some hint there about any operations he could have in the area. It might be something the team and Hotch wouldn't notice, but with her greater knowledge of Doyle, she might.
She opened one drawer and pulled back in surprise when she discovered a photo. Slowly, she pulled it out, recognizing that it had been taken at Jack's birthday party. She knew Garcia had been madly photographing the event and she had even flipped through the photos herself, but she didn't remember this one.
It was a solo shot and she was staring off into the far distance at something. The wind was blowing her hair and the sun lightly touched her skin, bathing her in a warm glow that was enhanced by the flattering color of the pink dress she wore. Objectively, Emily could say it was one of the best photos she had ever taken, but it felt odd to find a photo of herself in Hotch's desk drawer. However, what made her heart ache was not its discovery but the fact that there were splotches of smeared ink on the photo, distorting it in a few places.
Splotches that were likely caused by falling tears.
A/N 2: Folks may disagree, but I do see many parallels between Hotch and Ian Doyle. It's almost as if Doyle is Hotch had Hotch gone the wrong way. There's the son each is willing to do whatever it takes to have in his life, the loss of the mother/lover, the cold efficiency and the potential for violence and rage when pushed to a breaking point. And of course, there's Emily Prentiss. And personally, watching some of the old episodes, I think they had been flirting a bit on the show with Hotch/Prentiss in seasons 3 (or maybe that's when they started to notice the mad chemistry between the two actors) -part of 5 but with Paget Brewster's departure or maybe what they thought would only be a reduced amount of episodes but she would still be attached to the show, they started to pull back because they didn't know if she would be around to continue such an arc.
