Maybe that's what happens when a tornado meets a volcano. All I know is I love you too much, to walk away now.
She awoke to the sun shining in through the sheer white curtain covering the windows in their bedroom. She groaned as she tried to roll over, but the tight binding on her wrist made it nearly impossible to do so. She'd lost track of how long she had been stuck in here.
Three times a day, the housekeeper would bring her a meal and the sympathetic woman would fluff her pillows and offer to change the television channel for her. Occasionally, Ian would come in and allow her to "check in" with her team so that they didn't raid the place out of concern about not hearing from her.
About as often as she got meals, Ian would untie her so she could use the bathroom. She could count on one hand how many times he'd allowed her to go outside for fresh air, and even though neither of them had spoken about it, they both knew it was because Ian was aware that her team had constant surveillance on the villa; she needed to be seen so that there were no concerns about foul play.
If Ian was feeling nice, he'd let her take a shower. The warm water cascading over her felt like heaven, even if only for a few minutes that Ian would allow her.
He barely spoke to her; he didn't have much to say.
Emily wasn't awake for more than a few minutes before Ian's figure appeared in the doorway. He had her breakfast, which was unusual; typically Louise brought it in for her, and Ian returned shortly after she was finished eating to let her use the restroom, and ensure that her hands were re-tied properly.
"Good morning, Emily." He spat out her real name, something that he made a point to do every time that he entered this room.
The brunette sat up slightly. "Good morning, Ian." She mumbled, knowing that her lack of response would more than likely end up with the back of Ian's hand colliding with her face. He was definitely more physical with her now that he knew of her true identity.
He placed her breakfast on her lap before untying her right hand. She rotated her wrist a few times to get the blood flowing again, not saying a word as she started to eat. Ian sat down in the chair next to the bed, their bed, and turned his attention to the television. He had no desire to stare at her scarfing down a plate of eggs and bacon.
Once she finished eating, he untied her other hand to walk her to the bathroom. He turned away to give her privacy, didn't dare leave the room. He had no idea if she'd try to escape, and he needed to be vigilant.
He led her back to the bedroom when she was finished, and wasted no time in tying her hands back up. "You know, love," he spoke as he wrapped the rope around the post. "A few weeks ago, this would've been more enjoyable. You'd be naked, and wet." He smirked as he finished tying the final knot. "And now you're just a lying bitch."
And with that, he'd left the room. Emily sighed to herself as she made the realization of how bad she'd hurt him. He was an international arms dealer with a body count higher than she could possibly imagine, and she'd hurt him. The man had poured out nearly every intimate detail of his life to her, and she'd turned out to be a fraud. He had asked her to raise his son, to be his mother. He had asked her to marry him. He had told her that no matter what kind of life they were to have, he wanted the only constant to be her. He would never admit it, but this woman had shattered his heart. And Emily knew it.
Her compartmentalizing skills had proved to be complete failures in this particular case. She had fallen for this man. She, Emily Prentiss, had gotten mixed up in her undercover identity, and there was a very thin and blurry line between her and Lauren Reynolds. She was in love with Ian Doyle. Every smile, every laugh, and every "I love you" was genuine, and from the heart.
She had known for months that she was in too deep. She had contemplated telling Clyde that she needed to get out ASAP, and that she couldn't get any useful information on Doyle. Yet ultimately, she acted as if everything was fine, and continued to fall asleep in Ian's arms every night, becoming more and more attached to the Irishman.
She wasn't extremely religious, but she had been praying. She had been praying to whoever would listen that Ian would spare her life, and that he would forgive her. She knew that there was a very slim chance, but she was praying for it. Part of her was also praying that somehow, by the grace of God, they could be together. She loved that man. She loved that man, despite every one of her efforts not to.
She was caught off guard when Ian stepped in the room again, breaking her train of thought. She glanced up at him, not saying a word as he disappeared in to the closet. Part of her wished he would go ahead and kill her, so she didn't have to deal with this any longer.
She could hear voices in the hallway as she opens her eyes. She has to fight the tears that are threatening to fall as she hears the voice of the tiny 4-year old through the closed door.
"Is Lauren in there?"
She can practically sense the tension between Ian and his son as she notices Ian's hesitation to answer the question. "Yes, son. She's not feeling very well." He responds coolly, and she can imagine the look of disappointment on Declan's face.
"So she can't play?"
"No, Declan. She can't play."
"Can she read me a story?"
"No, Declan."
Emily hears the little boy sigh. "Will you give her a kiss for me?"
"I will."
The door opens, and she quickly turns her attention to the television to pretend that she didn't hear their conversation. Ian has a bottle of water in his hand, and he closes the door behind him as he walks toward the bed.
"Declan's asking about you." Ian states flatly as he sits down at the end of the bed.
Emily nods as she sits up as best as she can. "I miss him."
"He misses you too."
"I miss you." She tests the waters, and Ian simply stares at her.
Ian takes a breath, refusing to look at her as he responds. "I miss Lauren."
"I am Lauren." She mumbles as she looks up at the older man in front of her. "None of the last seven months was fake, Ian. I meant everything that I said to you. I meant every single 'I love you'. Every touch between the two of us was genuine."
He doesn't say anything. There's something about finding out that she's an agent that keeps him from wanting to discuss feelings and emotions with her. There's something about finding out that she's an agent that keeps him from believing her. Part of him still feels like he's being fooled.
Emily holds out her hand toward him, taking a chance. She knows he's more than likely not going to take it, but she wants to try.
He hesitates for a few seconds before taking her hand, squeezing it gently. Neither of them say a word, and it's over just as quickly as it started. He gets up and walks to the door, clenching his fists as he fights an internal battle he's experiencing.
"Emily," He looks at her, and for the first time, he doesn't say her name with a sense of disgust. "I have no idea what kind of life we're gonna have, but... I just want you in mine."