A/N: Because I'm endlessly discontent with Lauren and because I had begun to write this story immediately after seeing The Thirteenth Step, my Ian Doyle and his storyline about Prentiss are, as you know, necessarily different. If I don't mention something in this story, it means that doesn't have a place in this story; i.e. Prentiss having worked for CIA. Frankly it bothers me little how my original storyline intertwines with how things went down in the show. This is just a friendly advice that it'd be best if you'd try and read this without trying to fully connect it to the pertaining episodes. If you haven't seen episodes 6x13 through 6x18, this story might confuse you as to what's a spoiler and what's not; it's your choice if you'd like to read anyway. Regardless, this storyline will breathe on its own.
Thanks, and enjoy. Let me know what you think. Does Emily sound Emily Prentiss enough?
Chapter II – Lines of Communication
After another long, sleepless night, things seem to get better as soon as Emily walks into the BAU the next morning. Garcia walks past her as a blurry shape of blues and yellows and speaks without taking a breath, her voice steadily blending with the buzz of the crowd with the speed of her stride.
"Good morning, sunshine; you got a call from the lovely-accented Mr. McAllister, he said he'll call back at nine-thirty sharp -which is any second now- they'll direct the call straight to you- oh, and you look riveting."
Emily catches her playful wink just before Garcia disappears behind a group of agents. Her heart beating sharper with anticipation, she turns to look at the clocks across the wall, and surely enough, it's only seconds before the hand hits nine-thirty. Emily breaks into a rapid, purposeful stride towards her desk, barely even noticing that both Reid and Morgan are at their respective desks, annoyingly close to hers. She's only a step away when her desk phone begins to ring; she throws her bag loudly on the ground and picks up the handset before the first ring ends.
"Prentiss."
Her tone is so crisp that the caller may have felt like walking into a wall, but if they have, it certainly doesn't show when they speak.
"It's me."
It is the unmistakable, rusty voice of Sean McAllister. Two words in one breath, and Emily can already hear the tension in his voice. It is Sean alright; Emily also picks up an underlying smokiness in his tone, a tone that says there are things he knows but cannot tell her, and that there are things he suspects and will not tell her. It's a good thing that she can read his voice, though she doesn't like what she hears.
She pulls the chair and sits down, her coat still on. "It's good to hear your voice," she confides quietly to the handset.
"Parks is dead."
"He-" Emily catches herself before repeating it aloud. She throws a sideways glance to her co-workers, and is quite aware that both Reid and Morgan can very well hear the entire conversation, because, damn it, where is that noise of the crowd that's just been by the doors when she walked in? But if this is the only time and only line that Sean can communicate with her, then she can care about her teammates' overhearing later.
"How?" she asks instead, her insides clenching at the news. She hasn't even thought about Wesley Parks in near a decade. He was, nonetheless, her Interpol team member, and she irrationally remembers one incident where Parks was beaten by a crazy old woman during an interrogation. It had been a source of endless teasing for Emily; now, suddenly, she feels a completely nonsensical guilt settle in her stomach like a pile of sand.
"Entire family's found dead; official COD is food poisoning."There's a sour layer of anger beneath Sean's brisk answer.
"Food poisoning?" Emily repeats incredulously. "Poison's not his style—"
"Yeah, and what does that tell you?" Sean asks with the same tone. Emily knows it's more of a rhetorical question, because what it means is crystal clear to Emily Prentiss the Profiler: something has changed. Doyle has changed.
Hadn't all of them?
"Where are you?" Emily questions with a sigh, pushing her bangs out of her face as she rubs her forehead.
"Europe," Sean replies vaguely. "I was supposed to meet Parks, but he didn't show up." He hesitates."There was a four-leaf clover sketch on the ground."
Emily's breath gets caught up in her throat. Four-leaf clover is Doyle's signature; it's always been. What's more concerning is that it means he's watching Sean; it means Doyle not only knew he was going to meet Parks, but also when and where they were suppossed to meet. It takes a second before her heart resumes its beating, and for an almost imperceptible moment, she feels lightheaded. But the moment passes, and when she speaks again, it is in her usual Agent Prentiss tone.
"Monroe?"
"No word."
Good.It means he's alive.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'll keep moving, but I'm not meeting with Monroe. Have you told your team about Doyle yet?"
Emily involuntarily glances at Morgan. "No."
"Emily, do it," Sean hisses, and his voice is hardened again. "We don't know who's next. It could be me, Monroe, or you. You're not being careful; you're out in the open!"
"I'm not in the open," Emily responds stoically, her voice just above a whisper. "Don't worry about me; take care of yourself."
"Tell your team. Today."
"I will tell them."
"All right," Sean concedes, but it's relenting; not assured. "I'll call tomorrow."
"I'll be waiting," she replies. An irritating click at the other end of the line, and the call ends.
The beeping of the line replaces Sean's rich voice, and Emily suddenly feels like being sucked into a void. She's sharply pulled back when an utterly feminine voice speaks a bit too close to her other ear.
"That sounded romantic."
She whirls around to see Garcia grinning at her, paused briefly on her stride to the catwalk. Emily blinks, leaving the headset back on its place.
"It did?"
"'I'll be waiting'? Hell, yeah."
Emily forces a grin at her, which, thankfully, comes out good enough to fool Garcia. The technical analyst winks and walks away, leaving Emily to her thoughts.
Parks is dead. Sean is in danger. No word from Monroe.
Who's next? Emily wonders as she stands up and finally removes her long coat. Her gaze accidentally falls on Reid, and for a single moment, all thoughts halt in her mind when she sees the full expression on his face.
Reid turns away from her at lightning speed, but Emily's already got a satisfactory glimpse of the narrowed eyes and slight frown creasing his forehead. She can almost see the wheels turning from behind those round eyes.
Damn it, she curses inwardly. Damn it, Reid; damn your perceptiveness.
She throws her hair out of her face with an angry flash, pointedly turning her back to him and sitting down again. If he dares say a word, she'll kick his butt, she thinks.
With that perceptiveness, he better gets the message.
/
Reid saves his credibility (and his butt) by not approaching her about the issue. It is Morgan who questions Prentiss during lunch break and she can't blow him off. Instead, she gives him a vague answer about an old case being reopened and says she hates it when that happens. A closed case belongs to the past; it is not to be dug out and dusted later if it can be helped. That takes the conversation to a much safer route about the quirks of their job as Derek begins to recount one such incident from his cop days. Then Garcia comes by and distracts him, saving Emily from having to thread in dangerous waters.
As she fills her cup with a new brew of coffee in the afternoon, she asks herself, for the hundredth time, why exactly she's not telling the team them about Doyle. She's assured Sean that she will. She didn't lie; she intends to tell them. But something, some unidentifiable feeling is holding her back. Not yet. Just not yet; but why, she doesn't know. She just wants to keep it to herself until...
Until she believes it herself.
Despite her talks with Sean, despite the call from the Interpol, despite Parks' murder, what's happening is still strangely surreal to Emily. Distanced from herself, and despite her experience in the field, despite her intimate knowledge of Doyle and the entire case, there's no helping the dissociation she's feeling.
She will tell them when the time comes. For now, there's another phone call she needs to make.
She walks past her desk and up the catwalk, and knocks on Rossi's half-open door.
"May I come in?"
Rossi looks up from his desk. "Sure. What's up?"
Emily walks in and stands before him, hands clenching together in front of her torso, closed fingers intertwined in a characteristic gesture. "I need a favor," she admits. Rossi makes an interested face as he leans back in his seat.
"Shoot."
"I need to make a private phone call. Work-related private call," she quickly clarifies upon seeing the rise of one of Dave's eyebrows. "I've been taking these calls from my desks but Reid and Morgan are having a bit of a problem switching off their profiler mood," she adds with a roll of her eyes. It earns her a snort.
"I'd imagine," Rossi agrees. He pushes himself up. "You need the office, you got it," he says easily. Emily smiles.
"Thank you," she says heartily as Rossi walks around the desk and Emily approaches the phone. She's reaching for the handset when Rossi speaks suddenly.
"Although I am curious," he says slowly with a frown, "why so private if it's work-related?"
It's a curious, simple question; Emily knows that if she doesn't answer, Rossi won't insist and will probably even apologize for probing. Perhaps that's why the answer she gives him is genuine.
"It's one of those old cases," she admits softly, "that one would just like to keep to herself, you know."
The understanding smile and nod Rossi gives her assures Emily that he does. Dave pulls the door close as he leaves.
With a sigh, Emily takes a seat and pulls the phone to herself. She's dreading this conversation with Ambassador Prentiss. But she'll leave nothing to chance, and definitely not the safety of her mother, so she will inform her about the situation.
Resignedly, she calls the operator, and asks to be connected to the American embassy in Serbia. She tells the secretary that her name is Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss, rolling her eyes as she imagines the frown on the unknown woman's face, and confirms that, yes, she works with the FBI, and yes, she is Ambassador Prentiss's daughter.
Then, it is directly her mother that finally picks up.
"Emily?"
"Hello, mother," Emily greets, her tone carefully controlled.
"Is everything all right?"
"Not really," she replies briskly. Down to the business; that's how their relationship has always been. This is no exception. "Is this a secure line?"
"Of course it is. This is the embassy."
"I know it is, mother, but I'll be talking of sensitive information and if the call is intercepted in any way—"
"What is going on?"There's concern mingled with practiced solemnity in the Ambassador's voice, and Emily can easily picture every mimic and expression on her face as they speak.
"Mother, did you not hear my question?" she demands, rolling her eyes.
"I did, Emily, and I answered it. This is a secure line. Are you all right?"
"Yes, I am."
"All right, then. What is the matter that's so secretive?"
Emily straightens in her seat, eyes wandering on the bullpen area through the blinds in Rossi's office. "One of my old cases from the Interpol has reopened. A guy my team had captured has escaped from prison; Interpol believes everyone directly involved in his apprehension is in danger."
"Oh my God."The tone makes Emily marvel at how even the most immediate reactions can't escape being clasped in the Ambassador's calm and collected demeanor. It is an 'oh my God' which would sound fake to anyone other than Emily, but she knows her mother, and she knows she is genuine. Sean, after all, is far from being the only one Emily can profile through their voice.
"I'm all right; don't worry," she assures her quickly. "I called because…" She takes a sharp breath and shrugs her shoulders; a tic she's adopted to steel herself against what's coming. She swallows and keeps herself in the Agent Prentiss mode. "Interpol thinks our families may be in danger as well. They offered protection for you. I didn't accept it before talking to you."
There's not even a pause before the Ambassador responds. "You did right. I'm just as well protected; I'll be fine. Did they offer you protection?"
"Yes, they did."
"You didn't accept, of course."
Emily can hear the knowing smile in her mother's voice, and she can't help that her lips slightly curl upward in the corners. They indeed are mother and daughter.
"I didn't. I'll be fine, mother; I just – don't want to worry about you."
"You don't need to. I'm in Serbia, for God's sake. Do you know where in the world this guy is?"
"We'd be chasing him down if we did, mother."
"Oh. Well, of course."
Slowly, Emily pinches the bridge of her nose. The headache is creeping back into her skull, and she suddenly feels drained. The clock on the wall shows it's almost four. In the dimness of Rossi's office, Emily longingly thinks of a hot bath and undisturbed sleep in her bed. The desire is so sharp that she's nearly dozing off, literally in the blink of an eye, when her mother's voice jolts her into awareness.
"Emily?"
"I'm here." She sighs. "You're sure you're safe?"
"I am. I'm protected by an army, Emily. I'm surrounded by bodyguards everywhere."
"Okay. I'll check in with Interpol and have them brief your security about the man we're looking for, just in case."
"Sounds like a plan," her mother agrees. "Don't worry about me. You've never agreed with it, but my job isn't much less dangerous than yours, Agent."
Emily makes a gagging motion without a sound, but even then her lips stretch into a large smile at her mother's teasing. The similarities and differences between their jobs has always been a topic of controversy between them.
"So be it," she relents. Despite the angry sparks flying every time they interact, they have a way of sneaking past the energy between them, and it is then that they feel like mother and daughter. Emily almost cringes at the thought of something happening to her mother. "Be safe," she says.
"You be safe, my Emily,"the Ambassador replies. Emily nods.
"I will. I love you, mom."
It's a great thing, being able to always say this, despite everything, no matter how badly she usually wants to be away from her.
"I love you, too," her mother responds softly. Slowly, Emily leaves the handset back in its place.
All things considered, she thinks, it could go much worse.
