"Ian," Emily offered in greeting as Doyle walked so he was in front of her, dragging a chair behind him. He sat down across from her so that they were knee to knee and surveyed her face with a bemused look on his face. "Are you going to say anything or are you going to stare at me all night?" she asked coyly. It was easier than she thought to slip back into Lauren. She shifted her body as best as she could so that she looked more relaxed, slumping a little, as Lauren had always done.

"You are nice to look at," he acknowledged. "But no, I've got plans that involve more than just looking. Much more."

"Care to share?" she asked.

"You'll find out soon enough," Doyle told her. Silence fell over them again and Emily was determined not to give in by breaking it. She and Doyle were caught in a staring contest that seemed never-ending. Finally, Doyle chuckled. "You've still got your nerve," he acknowledged. "Always the tough one." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His face was only inches from hers. "How have you been, Emily?" he asked conversationally. "It's still strange to call you that, you know. It requires more of a...conscious effort."

"You want Lauren back?" Emily asked. "I can do that." And she could, she knew. She could keep him distracted long enough for her team to get here. Or get close enough to take him out herself.

Doyle's fist lashed out so fast she couldn't see it coming. She felt her head snap back and tasted blood as it filled her mouth. She spat a mouthful on the ground as Ian settled back in his chair.

"What I want, you can't give me," he hissed. "No one can. You made sure of that."

"I was protecting him," Emily panted, swallowing more blood.

"From his own father?" Doyle yelled, standing up in his rage. "I never would have done what you did."

"I was protecting him from your life, Ian. I told you once that I couldn't raise him to be like you."

"So instead, you didn't want him to have a life at all," he concluded, sitting back down. "Do you know what it was like for me? I lost Lauren and then, not even a month later, I lost Declan. And you were the cause of both of those losses. He died over there," Doyle pointed at the far wall. "But you know that. And that's where I'm gonna kill you," he promised. He stood and kicked his chair back. Emily braced herself for what didn't come. Instead, she heard Doyle roll a cart out of a dark corner of the room. "Do you still have just two tattoos? The rose on your ankle and the words on your ribs?"

"Just the two. And that's enough ink for me, thanks." She eyed the cart with apprehension.

Doyle started unbuttoning her shirt from behind, pulling it open and smoothing it down. "You know, in North Korea they're too poor to afford ink, so they brand themselves instead." He turned a dial on the cart and Emily caught a glow of red out of the corner of her eye. Doyle picked up the glowing metal rod with one hand, holding it so close to her skin that she could feel the heat coming off of it. Trapped, she was helpless as Doyle pushed her head back with his free hand, jutting his elbow under her chin to give himself a clear workspace. "It hurts less if you relax," he told her confidentially.

As much as she wanted to, she couldn't hold in her screams of pain as Doyle pressed the red-hot rod to her bare skin. Her flesh was searing in pain and it was unlike anything she'd experienced. High pain threshold though she had, this was far, far above it. She was vaguely aware of Ian shushing her while he worked, almost soothingly, as though it bothered him that she was in pain. She knew it was an act though, and that this was what he wanted. After a few minutes she found that the pain wasn't as intense as before and realized that she was going into shock. Her cries quieted into whimpers as Doyle finished his work. When he finally pulled back, Emily forced herself to look down at the inflamed area on her chest where a crudely branded clover now resided. Emily felt bile well up in her mouth and forced herself to take deep breaths so she wouldn't throw up.

Doyle slowly buttoned her shirt, ignoring her completely. "Brace yourself luv, that was only round one," he threatened. He shoved the cart aside, sending it crashing into the wall opposite.

"It didn't make you feel better, did it?" Emily asked. Doyle paused on his way out. "It didn't take away the pain you're feeling like you thought it would. Hurting me isn't going to bring Declan back."

"No, you made sure of that," Ian told her icily before walking out and leaving her completely alone.

The plane touched down in Boston in no time. The conversation during the flight had been practically nonexistent. As requested, there had been SUVs waiting for them at the airport and they split up, Morgan driving one and Hotch driving the other. The general consensus was that they would all start at the police station, since they had no crime scene yet.

The Boston PD had been alerted as to what was going on and the chief of police was waiting for them when they arrived. Hotch made the introductions and was surprised when the man said that someone was there waiting for them already. He led the team to a large conference room that was equipped with several television screens, white boards, and a large table. Standing by one of the windows was Anna, her loose curls pulled back at the nape of her neck. She turned when she heard the footsteps of the team approaching and faced Hotch head on.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, setting his go-bag on the table. Part of him wasn't surprised; this was Emily's sister after all. But the other part of him was annoyed; the last thing he needed was someone getting in the way of the takedown operation.

"Proving that the governor's jet is faster than yours," she smirked.

"How'd you manage that?" Morgan asked.

"I asked," she said simply. "Do you have anything new?"

Hotch opened his mouth to say no but was interrupted by the chief of police who was pulling a man along behind him.

"Agent Hotchner. I think you're going to want to hear this." The chief shoved the short man into a chair and the team saw for the first time that he had a bandage on his forehead. "This is Jack Fahey. The hospital called when he came in to get bandaged up. We've had a warrant out on him for over a month. Popped up in the hospital alert system when they ran his name. He might have something interesting to tell you."

"Hey, hey, hey, I can speak for myself," Fahey held his cuffed hands up in front of him. "And I ain't sayin' nothin' until I get a deal."

"Deals depend on what you have to offer," Rossi told him, sitting at the table. "Tell us what you know and we'll see what we can do."

Fahey chuckled. "You expect me to believe that?"

"If you don't want it..." Rossi's voice trailed off and he stood.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey now, I never said I didn't want it," Fahey panicked. "What do you want to know?"

"How about what happened to your head, for starters?" Rossi smirked. That was an Emily wound if he ever saw one.

"Crazy bitch came after me with a gun!" Fahey exclaimed animatedly. "All I do is walk out of the pub y'know and she jumps me."

"Who jumped you?" Rossi asked.

Fahey looked at him through squinted eyes. "How good is this deal we're talking?" Rossi stared him down and Fahey sighed. "The only name I know her by is Lauren. I know that's not her real name but I dunno what it is. That's all I got man. That's it." Fahey leaned back in his chair expectantly.

"What's this Lauren look like?"

"Tall, thin, bangin' body. Dark hair, pale skin, you want more?" he licked his lips.

Rossi pulled a picture up on his phone. "This her?"

Fahey nodded. "Yeah. Like I said, I walk out of the pub and she jumps me. Drags me into an alley and starts hitting me."

"Why would she do that?"

Fahey looked conflicted. "Hey listen man, if I give you this, I'm gonna need protection. You got me?"

"Yeah, I got you," Rossi told him, getting the sense that Fahey had no real loyalties; he would give it all to whoever happened to serve his needs the best.

Fahey looked around and continued talking conspiratorially. "She was looking for her a man named Doyle. Ian Doyle."

"And did you tell her where to find him?"

"No need. Doyle was there." Something must have shown on Rossi's face because Fahey grinned.

"What happened next?"

"Doyle shot her," Fahey said simply. "Twice."

Over Fahey's head, Rossi could see Reid's hand pause mid-geographic profile. Morgan and JJ, who had been sorting cold case files while listening to the conversation stopped cold. Garcia stopped setting up her laptops and looked up in horror. Only Hotch remained stoic but Rossi knew it wasn't for lack of emotional response. Clyde Easter had apparently left out a few details. "She's dead?" Rossi verified.

"Whoa, no, man, I never said that. She was wearing one of those vests, you know? Bullets knocked her down but she wasn't out. She's a tough little chick, y'know?"

Rossi nodded. Fahey's version gelled with Easter's. He turned Fahey over to a uniformed officer who led a protesting Fahey down to a holding cell.

"What are you waiting for?" Anna asked. "You know where she is, Easter and Fahey have both told you. Go get her."

"We have time," Hotch told her. "Our best option is also her worst. We have time to plan because Doyle is going to take his time. He wants to hurt her."

"So we're just going to sit around while she's being tortured? Really?" Anna asked disgustedly. She ran her hands through her hair and chose her next words carefully. "Are you doing this to punish her? Are you even going to try and save her?" she asked quietly.

Morgan spoke up. "This isn't about what Emily did. This is about getting her back without putting ourselves in harm's way."

"She would take a bullet for you. For any of you. In an instant, without question," Anna told him.

"But not for a six year-old child?" Morgan asked.

"What was her choice?" Anna asked exasperatedly. "Tell me, what choice did she have? If she turned Declan over to the CIA or the North Koreans they would have hurt him to get to Doyle. If there was one thing Ian Doyle cared about above all else it was his son. So you're telling me she should have subjected an innocent child to torture when she had the option to end his life quickly and painlessly?"

"She could have hidden him," Reid suggested, his mind clearly working a million miles a minute.

"And how would she have done that? You heard Easter, she had no one she could trust; her colleagues were all in the CIA. She had no friends; she'd been undercover for eight months. That left her completely on her own with absolutely no resources to protect the two of them," Anna protested vehemently. "You know how protective she is," she pushed on, turning to Hotch. "If you're options were to kill your son quickly or subject him to months of inhumane torture, what would you do?"

Hotch glared. "I wouldn't have let the situation get that far in the first place," he told her.

"But it almost did, didn't it? If Foyet had gotten to Jack-"

"That's enough!" Hotch said roughly. "This is an entirely different situation. You need to remember that you're not an FBI agent; you're not any kind of law enforcement and you have no authority here. I can have you arrested for interfering with a police investigation at any point in time. This team will, under Morgan's tactical lead, come up with an extraction operation and we will get Emily out. Until that happens, if you're going to insist on fighting us at every step of the way, you can leave."

Anna glared at him but didn't say anything else.

"Good. Morgan, how long do you need?"

"I looked at the blueprints on the flight. I'm ready when you are."

"Garage. Now," Hotch ordered.

The team filed out of the room toward the garage, checking their weapons along the way. Morgan pecked Anna on the forehead and followed them out. It wasn't until he was on the stairs that he realized she was following behind him.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked her.

"I'm coming with you," she told him.

"No way. You heard Hotch just now. Absolutely no way," he answered.

"Derek, I can't just sit here and wait for a phone call. I have to be there."

"It's too dangerous."

"I don't care."

"I do care. You're not going."

"Try and stop me."

"I have tactical command of this team. I could stop you if I wanted to. Go back upstairs. I will call you the minute we get her." Morgan turned and continued down the stairs.

"Derek!" Anna called.

He turned impatiently.

"I know you're mad at her. Promise me that you're going to do everything you can to bring her home safe." She searched his face for any hint of doubt when he answered.

"I don't agree with the things she did. But I would never not do my best to bring her home," he promised.

"Good. Then there's no reason why I can't come with you."

"Anna," Morgan sighed, knowing it was pointless. They were wasting time. "Fine, let's go. On one condition," he said as they ran down the stairs. "You stay in the car until we give the all clear."

"Got it," she told him without breaking her stride. He grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

"I'm serious."

"So am I. Now let's go."