Long Shadows – Chapter 3

"The best way to keep loyalty in a man's heart is to keep money in his purse." – Irish proverb

2002

Emily cradled her cell phone between her ear and shoulder as she flicked her lighter. "Yes, Clyde," she said into the phone, "I've got all three groups of weapons." She held the lighter to the cigarette between her lips and flicked it again, to no avail. Frustrated, she jammed the cigarette and offending lighter into her pocket.

"OK, then everything should be in order," Clyde replied, his voice tinny and crackling from the poor connection. "The offshore account is up and running, so we'll be waiting for the transfer from Doyle once the deal goes through."

She pulled off her coat and threw it in the corner, where it fell over the three large boxes stacked against the wall. She was in an old warehouse on the western outskirts of Boston, about to perform her first weapons deal as Lauren Reynolds. The three weeks since her first meeting with Doyle had been a flurry of activity for the JTF as they prepared to give her cover identity the resources it needed. While the business deal with Doyle had been put on hold until today, Emily had still been working on moving things forward in their personal relationship. Although she didn't have a set deadline, she guessed that she had about a week left before Doyle left the country, and she wasn't counting on having much advanced notice.

Almost as if he'd read her mind, Clyde's voice floated over the phone. "How's Operation Seduction going? Got him wrapped around your finger yet?"

Emily pursed her lips, wishing he was in person so that she could kick him. "That's enough, Clyde." From outside came the roar of a van approaching the warehouse. "I've got to run," she said quickly. "Tell Sean I'll call him tomorrow." She closed the phone and tucked it into her pocket.

She heard the engine shut off and silently prayed that she could pull this off. She made her way over to the cases of weapons, biting her nails, and hoisted herself up to sit on one of them. Up until now, she'd kept Doyle interested in her—or rather, in Lauren—by playing on his attraction to her. That was simple, albeit repulsive at times, but his real acceptance of her would come from whether her cover identity passed the test today. There was no way he would consider keeping her around long-term if she didn't convince him that she was worth it, as both an arms supplier and a lover.

Even worse, it sickened her to think that she was surrounded by actual, functional weapons, ones that would inevitably end up in the hands of a killer. It was necessary, of course, to sell Doyle a few weapons in order to preserve her cover, but she was providing him and his clients with the means to wreak slaughter and carnage, and the guilt gnawed at her heart.

"Lauren?" Doyle's voice echoed across the warehouse.

Emily leapt down from her perch and strode towards him with a wide smile, her heeled boots clicking against the worn concrete floor. He placed a hand on her waist as she drew closer and tugged her in for a kiss. She pulled away after a moment, resting her hands on his chest, and playfully said, "Ian, I thought we were just going to focus on business."

He leaned down and put his lips next to her ear. "I suppose I can wait until later," he whispered, his voice low and rich.

Emily winked at him and stood on tiptoe to peer over his shoulder. "You've brought company."

Doyle nodded. "Two of my trusted associates. This is Liam." He gestured to the man on his right, a tall, bulky figure with frizzy grey hair and a permanent scowl. His stance was ramrod straight, and his arms were crossed over his chest. His gaze flickered back and forth between Emily and Doyle. "And that's Riley," Doyle added, indicating the man on his left. Riley was much younger than the other two men, with riotous, curly red hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose. His hazel eyes glittered as he stared at Emily, and she felt goosebumps rise on her skin.

"So you're Lauren Reynolds," the man called Liam said, taking a step forward. His Irish accent was even thicker than Doyle's. "I hear you've got something to sell us."

Emily nodded and turned on her heel. "It's a small shipment," she said, gesturing to the three boxes, "but since we're just starting out, I thought I'd keep things as simple as possible. Assuming you like what you see, I've got the account information so you can wire me the money." She leaned against one of the cases, resting her forearm on its dusty surface. "And of course, if this venture proves successful, I can easily secure more."

Riley walked hurriedly past the other two men and pulled some kind of metal tool from his back pocket. He jammed it under the lid of the first box and pried it open, coughing as sawdust filled the air. "AK-47s," he pronounced, peering into the box.

Liam glanced at Emily, and she shrugged. "Nothing beats reliability," she pointed out.

Doyle nodded. "Open the other two."

Riley lifted the second lid with greater ease. This time, his eyebrows rose a little as he inspected the contents. "Semtex," he said approvingly. Emily and the rest of the JTF had been fairly confident in the Semtex's ability to impress. It was a plastic explosive, popular in the Provisional IRA and other terrorist organizations because of its dependability and the difficulty in detecting it.

As Riley opened the third box, he let out a low whistle. Liam and Doyle came to his side, and the three of them dug through the box together. Emily leaned against the wall, legs crossed, and waited for their reaction. A satisfied smile twisted across her lips, but her pulse was beating against her throat like a war drum. She had done all she could to convince Doyle that Lauren Reynolds was real; now, it was out of her hands.

Doyle and Liam continued to search through the case, but Riley stepped back and ran a hand through his red curls. "RPG-7s haven't been easy to come by the last few months," he said. "You've got a lot of variety, too—the paratrooper model is a hell of a lot easier to carry, so it is."

"And the 7V2's got a lot more capabilities than your run-of-the-mill 7 model," Emily offered, glad that Sean and Clyde had given her a crash course in small arms and light weapons. "It's got the UP-7V sighting device for extended range ammo. The Russian Ground Forces only started using them in the last year."

Liam tilted his head towards the box of RPGs. "Where did you get all these?"

Emily shook her head and grinned. "If I told you, I wouldn't be able to do business with you, now would I?" She glanced at Doyle, who had finished checking the RPGs and was watching her with his curious smirk.

Liam's brow furrowed, but he seemed to accept her answer. He turned to Doyle. "Do you want us to load these up, then?"

Doyle nodded, his gaze still on Emily. "I do."

The other two men exited the warehouse to bring the van in for easier loading. Doyle swiftly crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Emily's waist. She slid her hands underneath his brown leather jacket and caressed the small of his back. He brought his mouth down to hers, his tongue brushing against her lips, but she was too distracted to respond in kind. She had survived the first business deal; she had passed the unspoken test. Her heart beat like a hummingbird's wings on the inside of her chest.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked quietly.

She gave a little laugh. "I don't think your friend Liam likes me very much."

Doyle kissed her forehead. "He's a good man, just cautious. It's served him well over the years. We've been working together a long time."

Emily longed to ask about his history, about Valhalla, but her instincts told her to hold back. If she played her cards right, there would be plenty of time later to ask about it, when he would trust her enough to give her more information. Behind her, she heard the crunch of the van dragging gravel from its wheels into the warehouse. She pulled a piece of paper from the top of her boot and slipped it into Doyle's jacket pocket.

"That's the account information," she said, sliding her hand down his chest to rest at his belt buckle. "Will I see you later?"

He nodded. His fingers slid underneath the edge of her sweater and stroked the thin strip of skin left bare by her shirt. "Come by my apartment 'round six. I'll cook us dinner and we can celebrate a successful business transaction."

Emily grinned. "You cook? This I have to see."

Doyle smiled back and added, "Besides, I have something to ask you."

She stretched up to press another kiss to his lips, and then pulled away. "I can't wait. See you later, Ian."

Emily grabbed her coat from where she'd tossed it earlier, pulled it on, and walked out of the warehouse. Outside, all the air rushed out of her lungs as she collapsed against the side of the building in relief. Against all odds, she had convinced him that she was a worthy investment; all the time she'd spend in his apartment, in his bed, was paying off. Ian Doyle believed that Lauren Reynolds was the real thing.

Present

Emily and Hotch barely spoke as he drove them to her hotel. They rode the elevator in silence, palpable tension hanging in the air like a dark fog. Sweat beaded on Hotch's forehead, and he glanced at Emily out of the corner of his eye. When they arrived at her room, she pulled out her key in one hand and her gun in the other. She unlocked the door and slid quickly into the room, gun at the ready. Hotch took his cue from her and drew his own weapon with clammy hands, checking the bathroom while she cleared the rest of the room. She locked and deadbolted the door, and then dragged a chair over and propped it underneath the handle.

Hotch felt as though he was watching someone he'd never seen before. Who was this woman, who triple-locked doors and rented hotel rooms with fabricated passports under false names? This woman, who had her records changed, who slept with terrorists? This woman, who said she loved him, but then failed to tell him about half her life?

The bedsprings gave a grudging whine as Emily sank onto the mattress. She began peeling off her boots, her hands moving methodically over the leather. "How long will you stay?" she asked quietly, cutting through the thick silence.

Hotch shrugged. "I should get back to Jack and Jessie before they wake up," he replied. "But I'll stay most of the night with you." He pulled off his jacket and tossed it aside. "If you want me to."

She set her boots on the floor and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. "Of course I want you to stay," she said. She gave a long exhale and stared at his shoes. "Aaron, I know it isn't enough, but I'm sorry. I really am."

He ran his hands over his face and rested against the desk. "I honestly don't know how to respond to that, Emily," he said. "You lied to me."

"I had to!" she protested. "I had to hide it from everyone, for my own safety. You know what 'classified' means."

"Since when have we lived by the federal rulebook?" he shot back.

"Since my life depended on it!" Emily's hands were balled into fists. "Please, Aaron, I wish I could have told you—"

"Told me that you screwed a terrorist? Told me that half your life is a lie?" Hotch could hear the rush of blood roaring in his ears. His whole body felt heated. "Christ, Emily, what else have you lied to me about?"

He instantly regretted his words. Emily raised a quivering hand to her lips, her eyes glimmering. She looked as though he'd physically slapped her across the face. She started to stand, and then sat down again, her legs unable to support her.

"Em, sweetheart, I didn't mean it."

"Nothing," she whispered. "I haven't lied to you about anything else." One tear beaded on her lashes, but refused to fall. Her voice shaking, she continued, "I'm not proud of what I did, but I'm proud of what I accomplished." She looked up at Hotch, and his heart sank when he saw her wet, reddened eyes. "I helped put a terrorist behind bars, stopped him from selling dangerous, illegal weapons. And I put together a profile on him, which at least brings us a little closer to catching him now that he's escaped."

Hotch dropped to his knees before her and wrapped her hands in his. "Em," he murmured, "look at me."

She turned her face away. "You said you couldn't bear losing me, Aaron. You don't know how lost I'll be if I don't have you."

"Please look at me."

Emily glanced down at him. The stubborn tear finally freed itself, and Hotch caught it with his thumb before it could trail down her cheek. "I spoke in anger," he told her, gazing up at her earnestly, "and I didn't mean what I said. You didn't deserve for me to hurt you like that." When she said nothing, he continued, "You did what you had to do. I wish there had been a better way for you to build your profile, and I wish you could have told me the truth. And I have to admit, I wish I didn't now know what a cool liar you can be."

Another tear slipped down her cheek. "I swear, Aaron, I've never lied to you about anything except my CIA work. You have to believe me."

Hotch leaned forward and touched his lips to her cheek, kissing away the tear. "I believe you, Emily. And I understand that you had to protect me, and everyone else. I'm glad you've told me now, even though I wish it were under different circumstances." He cradled her face in his hands. "And as much as it hurts me to hear about it, I'm glad you're telling me and the rest of the team about the man who's after you." Hotch's jaw flexed and tightened as he said, in a deadly low whisper, "Because I swear to God, if that son of a bitch touches you, I will end him."

Something about the way that Hotch had unknowingly echoed her earlier words to Doyle gave Emily comfort. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and said, "Thank you, Aaron. I just want you to know that you can trust me."

He nodded. "I do. And I always will."

Emily pulled her hands free from his grasp and moved towards the head of the bed, curling one arm underneath the pillow. She motioned for Hotch to join her, so he pulled off his shoes and crawled onto the bed with her. He sat up, placing a pillow behind his head, and tucked her head against his chest so he could wrap his arms around her shoulders. Not for the first time, Emily was struck by how snugly her body fitted against his.

Hotch dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "I love you, Emily."

"I love you, too, Aaron," she murmured, nuzzling her head against his stomach.

They lay together, cocooned in silence and each other's warm bodies, and Emily felt herself begin to drift off. Hotch's fingers began to comb soothingly through her hair, and she couldn't help yawning.

"How much sleep have you been getting?"

She was embarrassed, knowing he would reprimand her. "Since this whole mess started?" She took a slow breath and considered the question. "Hard to say. I've been having trouble falling and staying asleep."

"Nightmares?" His voice was low and sympathetic.

"And paranoia." Emily brought her hand to the hem of his t-shirt, running her fingertips along the rough seam. Her finger accidentally brushed his stomach, and she felt the muscle twitch underneath the shirt. "I keep hearing noises and thinking it's him. Maybe it's my imagination, I don't know."

Hotch's hand stilled in in its path through her hair as he asked, "Are you safe at your place?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I actually probably am; he'd get no satisfaction from kidnapping or killing me. Not yet, at least. He hasn't gotten the psychological warfare out of his system."

The cool, detached way with which Emily spoke of this man made Hotch's blood run cold. It was the same way she delivered a profile on a case, her compartmentalization skills hard at work. He felt her tilt her head backwards against his hand, and began moving it through her hair again.

After a few minutes of silence, Hotch inquired, "What's his name?"

"…Ian Doyle."

Somehow, the name gave more structure to this faceless hunter; it solidified Hotch's image of the man who wanted to torture and kill his girlfriend. And in doing so, it solidified his determination to make that man pay. "Did he ever hurt you when you were… undercover?"

Emily shook her head emphatically. "Never. We had a few arguments, but he was always a gentleman with me. He loved me."

The question that had hovered like a vengeful spirit at the back of Hotch's mind all night finally surfaced. He tried to bite back the cold fury in his voice as he asked, "Did you love him?"

Emily yanked her body away from his and almost fell out of bed. "Tell me you did not just ask me that."

"Em, I don't care if you did," he pleaded. "You were undercover with him for almost two years, pretending to be his lover. It would be a natural coping mechanism for you to develop feelings for him."

She glared at him. "First off," she spat, "you sound like Reid, and it's not particularly attractive. Second, stop trying to make me out like the Patty Hearst of the 21st century."

Hotch winced. "I wasn't trying to say—"

"You were trying to say that it would be perfectly natural for me to fall in love with a parasitic, sociopathic killer. Think about that, Aaron."

He placed his hands on her shoulders. "You're right, Em, that came out all wrong." He tried to smile at her. "I guess I'm batting zero tonight, huh?"

Emily crossed her arms over her chest. "I'll give you one more chance to say it right." She lay back down beside him again, leaving a little more room between their torsos than before. "Choose your words wisely."

He took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. "What I was trying to say is that you're an incredibly strong, self-confident, well-adjusted woman. You were able to go undercover with a terrorist for an extended period of time, and you survived it. I don't know anyone else who could do that and still become the wonderful, beautiful person that I met four years ago."

She moved to rest her head back on his body, and he felt her crack a smile against his chest. "Keep talking."

Hotch smiled back. "Most people wouldn't be strong enough to develop a way of handling that kind of assignment, but you are. The fact that you didn't crack under the pressure tells me that you were able to compartmentalize, like you always do, and cope with your situation in a way that others wouldn't be able to."

Emily stayed quiet for so long that Hotch worried she'd fallen asleep, but she finally spoke. "I think… I think there might have been a part of me that loved him, or at least accepted him. I never lost track of who I was, but there were times that it was easier to forget my real identity and let my cover take over." She bit her lip. "If nothing else, there was a part of me that thought he could be… saved. I saw a side of him sometimes that made me think he didn't have to be who he was. And every once in a while, I thought that maybe, possibly, I could draw that part of him out and make him a better person. Make him into the man I convinced myself I loved."

Her words hung in the air for a minute afterwards. Hotch's breathing was steady, a rhythmic rise and fall that rocked Emily into a state of calm. "You're an amazing woman," he said softly.

She snorted. "I hated myself for years afterwards."

"You shouldn't have." He rubbed his thumb against the thin skin of her neck, making her shiver. "We're going to stop Doyle. He's not going to hurt you, Em. You and I will work together, and with the BAU and your old colleagues behind us, we'll catch him."

Emily snuggled closer to him. "I wish I could be as confident about that as you are."

Hotch nudged her chin and bent his head towards hers. Their lips connected in a soft, gentle kiss. "I love you," he said simply, "and I won't let anything happen to you."

She crawled underneath the covers and pulled them up to her chin. Hotch slid down beside her, and she reached over to turn off the light. She pressed her back against his chest and he snaked an arm around her waist, drawing her body to his. "I'm sorry," she said into the heavy blackness of the hotel room. She didn't clarify further, but there was no need to.

He kissed her shoulder. "You had to keep yourself alive," he replied. "And if you hadn't, I wouldn't be with you today. So I'm grateful."

Emily stifled a yawn.

"Sleep, hon," Hotch chuckled. "You need it. I'll be right here beside you."

"Love you," she murmured sleepily.

"Love you, too."

-(Well, this gives you all a more accurate idea of how often I'll be updating. I'm going to shoot for once a week, but new chapters may be faster or slower depending on how the real world comes crashing in. This is also indicative of another trend in my writing- the chapters are getting longer. I'm trying to keep them short-ish just so I can update the story faster, but this chapter is about 1,000 words longer than the previous chapters.

We're starting to move more into the action of the story- the plot will be moved along a lot in the next chapter, both past and present. We'll get to see a lot more of the rest of the team in the upcoming 'present' sections, although I plan to have plenty of little Hotch/Emily scenes to keep things happy. We'll also be meeting Tsia and Clyde in the next 'present' installment. I've planned out a lot of the upcoming chapters, which I rarely do for stories, but I think it's helping me organize my thoughts better. Right now, it's 15 chapters and growing. My guess is that it'll ultimately be 20-25 chapters long.

At any rate, let me know what you think! I tried to keep everyone in character here, which can be tough, so drop me a line and tell me what worked and what didn't in this chapter. Also, I have the 'present' pretty much planned out, but if you have any ideas for scenes you'd like to see involving Doyle (or anything else in the past), feel free to suggest it. Thanks to all my awesome reviewers and people who have added me for favourites and/or alerts. And as always, thanks for reading!)-

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