CHAPTER 37: Parasite (Season 5, episode 14)
Character(s): Prentiss, JJ (and Clyde and Tsia, briefly)
A/N: Some brief spoilers here and there for the episode, as well as references to Emily's undercover days with Doyle.
And before I continue on: thank you so, SO much to everyone who nominated two of my stories for the 2014 Profiler's Choice Awards, as well as the "Best Reviewer" award. It's a thrill to be nominated, and I can't even begin to properly express just how much I appreciate all of your support. The voting is going through mid February, and there's tons of brilliant authors and stories up for nominations, so feel free to take a peek and read and vote if and when you so wish. Thank you all once again!
Apologies once more for the delay in updating, but finally, we're back on track. Enjoy!
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." – William Shakespeare
2004:
Fingers rapped against the table. Sounds of pages rapidly flipping back and forth echoed softly throughout the room.
This really shouldn't have been too difficult a decision. Of all the things Emily Prentiss was about to be doing, this was the easiest part of her job.
She was going to soon find herself working alongside weapons dealers. Big time weapons dealers at that – these guys were trading all the way up the chain of command. She'd be infiltrating terrorist organizations, going so far as to actually befriend a known terrorist. She was supposed to come up with a whole new persona, gain intel on these shady groups, and report back to Interpol with her findings. In the grand scheme of things, picking out a new name for herself was nothing.
Emily always was a stickler for details, though, zeroing in on the aspects of a situation that others wouldn't think twice about. Coming up with a good choice of name for her new identity was no exception. She had to pick something that was innocuous; common enough not to stick in the memory too long, yet still intriguing and attractive, something that would roll nicely off one's lips (who knew just what kinds of relationships she might have to forge here, after all?).
She'd always been okay with her given name. "Emily" was pretty. She'd even looked up the meaning of her name once. It meant "rival", "industrious", or "admiring". Emily had never been one to take too much personal stock in name meanings (just as she never took seriously things like astrology signs, or what one's favorite color indicated about them, or other fluffy yet ultimately pointless "analyses" of that sort), but those weren't exactly bad traits to associate with her name. Even the "rival" definition she liked – Emily never intentionally set out to cause a ruckus, no, but she wasn't a doormat, either. She'd always been one to fight back and take a stand if and when needed.
This name, though, this one she was trying to decide on for her undercover work…yeah, she needed to be a little more dedicated to picking out just the right one. It wasn't like she had a list of dream names for some yet to be born daughter to make this decision easier for her, and she didn't want to pick the name of a close family member or friend, either, lest they inadvertently be put in danger. So an exhaustive search through baby name books and websites it was. She knew this much for certain – if she was going to be a whole new person for however many months, she wanted a name that she could get used to being referred to, and more importantly, one which she would like being called.
Her constant searching and overthinking was starting to give her a headache, however. Finally, after hours of searching, in desperation, she took a chance by closing her eyes, flipping through a name book, and pointing to the first name her finger landed on. If she liked the name, wonderful. If not, well, she'd simply keep going.
Once she felt her finger get her to a stopping point in the book, Emily opened her eyes, anxious to see what name came up.
Lauren: Feminine form of Laurence, or Lorin. From the place of laurel trees, or crowned with laurel.
It was a pretty name, Emily couldn't argue that. It fit many of her other criteria regarding what she was looking for. She'd never personally known anybody named Lauren, either, so it would've been an appropriate choice in that regard. Still, being a little skeptical of this random pick, she decided to do some further digging.
From what she'd discovered, it appeared the laurel mentioned in the definition was an evergreen shrub, made into a wreath for the ancient Greek and Roman god Apollo. The shrub was a symbol of victory.
Emily considered this. Indeed, she certainly was looking to come out victorious with her investigation of Doyle.
"Laurel" was also representative of prosperity and fame. Emily had seen Doyle's home. "Lauren" would most assuredly have a very comfortable life there. As for the fame aspect, eh, she could pass on that one. Doyle's notoriety was all the closer she wanted to get in that respect – she wasn't exactly looking to make a big name for herself with this job, she just wanted to stop a bad guy. Two out of three, though…
The word was also part of the classic phrase, "resting on one's laurels". Emily chuckled at that. She'd never been one to rest on her laurels in the past at any point in her life, and she sure as hell wasn't about to start doing that now. She couldn't afford to even if she wanted to.
This particular undercover job was going to be dangerous and intimidating. Aside from the physical danger, there was also an emotional and mental toll to consider. Clyde had actually sat her down and tried to prepare and warn her about those very risks a couple weeks ago, sharing a couple horror stories of agents who'd dramatically burned out and couldn't cut it in this line of work. He'd asked her so many times if she was "really sure" she wanted to do this that by the twentieth time or so he asked, she'd nearly snapped his head off with her exasperated response. She was not going to back down. She couldn't. Not until she was absolutely sure this Doyle guy was behind bars for good, his horrific plans destroyed. This was the biggest assignment of her career so far, and she wanted to show she could handle it. Who knew what other dangerous missions she might be assigned to down the line, after all?
So that was that. First name settled, then. Lauren. Emily tried out the name a few times, walking around her apartment and muttering random phrases. "Hello, my name is Lauren." "Nice to meet you, I'm Lauren." "Make that out to Lauren." She stared at herself in the mirror. Do I look like a Lauren? Maybe if I style my hair a little differently, wear these sorts of outfits…
After a little more hemming and hawing, Emily felt much more convinced. Yes. This name would do nicely.
Coming up with a last name was a little bit easier. Emily had decided on "Reynolds". It was the last name of her first girlhood crush, back when she was around nine or ten years old. It'd be an easy name for her to remember, yet once again, it would be common enough that nobody else would give it a second thought (and it wasn't like anyone would know about her childhood infatuations, either – last she'd heard, that boy's family moved when he was eleven, and that was all the more she knew about his whereabouts).
Lauren Reynolds. It had a nice ring to it. Rolled off the tongue well enough. She nodded to herself, feeling satisfied with her choice.
The next day, she told Clyde her new name. His quick ability to learn new things never had ceased to impress her.
2010:
While the rest of the team began giving the profile to the local police, Emily gazed at the list of names written on the board.
Ten. This guy went by ten names. The CIA only goes up to three. This unsub had been throwing the team some real curveballs. It often took a while before they figured out who the person was that they were targeting, but normally they never had to search multiple aliases to find their man, or woman.
This case, however, changed all that. They'd been searching for a con man who'd recently decided to add "serial killer" to his list of crimes. He scammed women, and a few men, out of thousands, if not millions, of dollars. And if any of them got wise to his schemes, or threatened to go to the authorities, they were done away with.
That information was bad enough, but now they'd found out their unsub had a family. A wife and son who were being dragged around the country while the guy searched for his next victims. Emily shuddered to think of the lessons he might be passing on to his son, and wondered how much his wife really knew about what he was doing. If she knew at all.
And just like that, those memories came back. Observing Doyle with Declan. Flitting back and forth between being curious about Doyle's "work" and not wanting to know the details. Secret meetings, jetting about from country to country. And the amount of bodies Doyle, and his cronies, left in their wake all the while…
She was no innocent, though. She'd only used one alias, but she'd lied to the loved ones of the group she infiltrated. She got on so well with Declan, he'd known her as a warm, friendly, mothering type, and she'd allowed him to get attached, knowing full well she'd simply be leaving him behind down the line.
Hell, she'd even wavered in lying to Doyle, mainly because she was scared of what he'd say or do if she were caught. Her actions, the way she led him on…that'd only add further fuel to his anger if he ever were to learn the truth about her.
She may have been scamming "bad guys", but it still disturbed her to think of how easily such an ability came to her. She'd never really considered herself to be a manipulator before, but that case had proven otherwise. In fact, it'd revealed a lot of things about her personality she hadn't been aware were even lurking there.
Emily tried to shake away her thoughts, then, attempting to follow her teammates as they gave the local officers the profile of their unsub.
This guy used fake IDs. He had money shifting about overseas, just in case there was an emergency.
Doyle never did find out about the money Lauren had hidden away…
He manipulated people, namely women, with the power of seduction.
Put on a sexy outfit, speak in a soft whisper, tell him what he wants to hear. How strong he is, how brave, how impressive.
A "Casanova con man", Rossi had called him. Considering the long list of aliases, Emily didn't even want to begin thinking about how long the list of women he'd slept with would be.
At least I only focused on one man.
And of course, each woman would be different, so he'd need to adapt his seduction techniques to what each of them wanted.
Lauren treasured that necklace. She'd made a promise to Doyle. The people she talked to, the places she went, to get him weapons, information…the things she shared with him at night, when they were alone…
There was the mention of his wife and child. So charming that his kid looked up to him, idolized him.
What would Lauren have been like as a mother? Would she groom Declan, too?
If his wife wasn't involved in the crimes, she wouldn't need to change her name. She'd be a homemaker, she'd simply be a ruse to make him appear normal to those around him.
The good hostess at parties. The friendly go-between for Doyle and his friends. Anything to put them at ease.
All those names to remember, all those different lives to lead, all the people he had to invent new stories around…no wonder his brain couldn't take it anymore. He would surely explode, he'd put many more lives in danger, if he wasn't stopped.
Emily simply shuddered at the thought. She briefly threw in her necessary input, hoping all the while that this case would wrap up as quickly as possible.
2004:
Emily hadn't had much difficulty in adapting to her new name. Moving so much throughout her life had prepared her to adjust to change as it was, and part of that change inevitably involved putting on a new persona, as it were, around those she'd meet. She could be whomever anyone wanted her to be at the drop of the hat. The cool, edgy chick. The prim, proper rich girl. The tomboy. The wild child. These transformations had helped her make it through school well enough.
But teenagers being what they were, they were also very obsessed with their clique-ish attitudes, and after a while, such attitudes became too much for her. The fact that these people only got to know a version of Emily hurt her as much as it helped her. They never really got to see the real Emily in full. She'd never allow it. She wouldn't ever fully fit in – she'd only be there for a short while anyway, so what was the point? She was too weird, too smart, too rich. Emily always made acquaintances. Rarely ever did she create long-lasting, genuine friendships.
The few close friends Emily had managed to make over the years, though, the ones that allowed her even the slightest chance to let her hair down? Those she never forgot. Matthew Benton and John Cooley were the best part of her wild teen years (yes, she still did have some fond memories of John).
And now, she could add Tsia, Jeremy, and Sean to her list, even Clyde to some extent. They went through the same troubles she did, they found themselves in situations nobody else but them could possibly understand, they had each other's backs in the worst of times and the most stressful of situations. Intelligence and toughness were respected and welcomed. Nobody judged anyone else for the things they did.
Those friends were the people she mentally clung to when she started in on this undercover job. When someone called for Lauren, and it took her a moment, early on, to realize it was her they were asking for or talking to, thoughts of her friends were a reassurance. This change is only temporary. We know it's you, Emily… When she'd find herself nervous the first time she met up with some of Doyle's shady friends, her friends were mentally there once again to protect her. Don't worry. You're safe. We'll protect you. When she started in with her relationship with Doyle? Do what you have to do.
Over time, however, Emily began to notice that reassurance and understanding slipping away. It happened slowly at first. She found herself coming up with suggestions on how to slip the weapons back and forth with an increasingly startling ease. But she had to be tough, she reminded herself. She couldn't let Doyle get wise. She'd become quite friendly with Doyle and his buddies in a fairly short amount of time. Logically speaking, they should've been deeply suspicious – this wasn't a job for a woman, especially not one like her. But her toughness apparently endeared her to them.
And then there was the first time she found herself alone, late at night, with Doyle. His gentle touches had made her shiver, the way he looked at her…how long had it been since a man looked at her like that? When he'd started in whispering soft, passionate words into her ear, romantic words, in a variety of languages…she found herself thinking of him in ways she was pretty damn sure she wasn't supposed to be thinking of him.
Simple basic physical and mental reactions to being around a good-looking man, that's all. You're supposed to make him think you're interested, anyway, remember?
Of all the times for her compartmentalization skills to fail her.
When the day came when she immediately looked up the moment she heard, "Lauren!", however, even if it was the call of a random passerby shouting to someone else altogether…that's when she became truly frightened. No matter how much she tried to explain that away, her reasoning was flimsy at best.
Even that fear died over time, however, as she immersed herself even deeper into her new persona. Lauren wouldn't be afraid. Lauren wouldn't second-guess anything she did. Lauren would go full steam ahead.
No matter how risky or dangerous her actions were.
2010:
Emily stiffened slightly as she snuck a glance at the man next to her.
Detective Goldman was picking at his fingernails. Clearly tense. Anxious.
Emily clutched the steering wheel just a little more tightly. She tried desperately to keep her eyes on the road and away from Goldman.
Stop it. Stop picking at them. By this point, she was seriously considering letting him take over driving, while she sat in the passenger seat, her hands underneath her.
She understood the man's intense nervousness, of course. They were coming so close to finally catching this con man, this criminal who'd been the subject of Goldman's intense focus. How would it all end? Was this guy really as convincing and chameleon-like as everyone had been led to believe? How could he have slipped up so badly?
At least, that's what Emily assumed Goldman was likely thinking. She, on the other hand, had an entirely different set of questions running through her mind.
Will he explain why he did this? Express any guilt for the lives he's destroyed? Tell us how he managed to keep the charade going for so long? How he kept track of all the names, the women?
She could already guess she likely wouldn't get any answers from him, not the ones she wanted, anyway. But on the off chance he was willing to talk and explain himself, she was ready. She could talk him down, she could try and sympathize with him. She could even use some of his tricks against him, if need be.
None of that wound up happening, though. It was all over so fast Emily barely had time to blink. One minute she had her gun out, pointed at their man. She'd ushered the two women and the little boy back (she'd been right. Even in his panicked state, it was plain to see that little boy still loved his father).
Then she saw the look in Bill's eyes. The defeat, the fear…perhaps the slightest tinge of regret?
He's giving up.
The next thing she knew, Bill Hodges laid mortally wounded on the front stoop, thanks to Goldman. People around her sobbed, or screamed, while her teammates rushed about taking care of the situation.
Emily, meanwhile, just stood there, frozen.
A short while later, Bill was carted off to the morgue. Emily wondered what name they'd put on his tag.
2004:
"Emily? Emily?"
Emily blinked, jumping slightly at the sudden shout. She glanced over to see Clyde peering at her, a curious expression on his face.
Why the hell's he calling me "Emily"?
Oh. Right.
She shook her head. "Hm? Sorry, I…zoned out."
"Obviously," Clyde said, amused. His tone didn't entirely hide his concern, though. "I was just asking you if you wanted to go out this evening. Jeremy, Tsia, and Sean are coming along. Figured after everything we've been through lately we could use a night off and a drink or two."
"Oh, that's very thoughtful of you, but…I think I'm just going to go home," Emily said, rubbing her eyes. She gazed over at Clyde again. He was now leaning in, looking apprehensive.
"Speak to me, darling. Are you sure you're all right?" he asked, his voice low, a noticeable hint of worry creeping in.
"Yeah. I'm fine. I'm just…tired, that's all." She tried to smile reassuringly at him. "Really, I just think I need a few days to regroup."
"Really?" He clearly didn't believe her. But Emily believed what she said, so that was all that mattered, right?
"Yes, Clyde, really. Thank you for the offer, but I just want to go home and rest, all right?" Clyde flinched a little at her response. Realizing how she'd sounded, Emily quickly reached a hand out, gently squeezing Clyde's hand before patting it comfortingly. "I can take a rain check on the offer, though, right?"
Clyde gazed at her for a long moment, before finally responding. "All right." He let out a heavy sigh. "Just…call me when you get home, perhaps?" I mean it.
"I will." Emily smiled at him, before getting up to leave.
ooo
"Where's Emily?" Tsia looked behind Clyde, scanning the crowd for any sign of her.
"She's not coming. Says she's tired," Clyde responded. Tsia raised her eyebrows at the tense reply.
"You don't believe her?"
Clyde's answer was interrupted by the beeping of his phone. He pulled it out, looking at the message Emily had sent. Am home. Will call tomorrow. Good night. He fired off a quick response in return: Good. Talk tomorrow, then. Sleep well.
Tsia watched as Clyde put his phone back. "She okay?" she asked, concerned.
"Sure," Clyde muttered, setting his lips in a thin line.
Tsia merely raised an eyebrow in response. I knew it.
Meanwhile, at home, Emily rummaged through her purse, doing one last check. All evidence of Lauren had to be gone. No IDs, no personal items with that name on them, none of the things Lauren would've carried with her when out and about.
Yep. It had all disappeared. She'd turned it all over to Clyde – he knew how to dispose of this stuff. He'd had plenty of practice doing that after other undercover gigs over the years, after all, he'd explained.
Emily was officially Emily Prentiss again.
How long will it take before I believe it?
2010:
Emily watched as JJ spread the file out on the table between them. It was late, and everyone else on the plane except for her, JJ, and Hotch was asleep. Hotch and JJ had started work on their reports for this last case.
Emily, on the other hand, had been replaying Bill's death in her head. She could still hear the screams and cries of his wife, child, and mistress, could still picture Goldman's pale, shocked face, gun still in his hand. She knew that look all too well. She'd seen it on her own face once, years ago. Hopefully her ability to compartmentalize hadn't erased that expression altogether in this job.
At one point, JJ caught Emily staring, and smirked. "That bored, eh?"
"Huh?" Emily looked at her, confused.
"Just wondering if you're bored, or if you actually find me doing paperwork that interesting." She let out a small laugh, only for her smile to fall when Emily didn't join in, that same inscrutable stare still remaining on her face.
"Hey. Are you okay?" She'd set her pen down, and was leaning across the table, hands folded, head down and in Emily's direct line of vision. Her voice was a whisper, and Emily knew it wasn't solely for the benefit of the sleeping passengers.
"Yeah. Just…thinking."
"I'll say," JJ remarked. Her face softened as she continued to study her friend, though. "Is it about the case?"
Emily tensed. Did she know something? Sense something? "What about it?"
JJ shrugged. "It just looks like it affected you a little. Did it?"
Emily thought for a moment, before taking a deep breath and answering. "I just can't stand self-centered people. I knew a few people like Bill, thanks to the line of work my mom was in, and they were always some of the nastiest people to be around. And the way their behavior affected their families…" She made a face. "They didn't care about the pain they put those close to them through. It's just…frustrating." For lack of a better word.
"I know what you mean," JJ replied sympathetically. "Even if this guy wasn't a murderer, he was still sleazy. I couldn't imagine putting Will or Henry through that kind of pain. And the fact that he was able to do what he did for so long…" JJ shook her head. "Ten years. He managed to fool his wife for ten years. He juggled so many scams and personalities. How on earth can somebody keep up that sort of charade for so long?"
Emily subtly shifted in her seat. JJ didn't seem to notice. "It'd take a hell of a lot of work, that's for sure," she quietly answered.
"I told his wife to be prepared," JJ continued, looking out the window. "But how can she, really? I can't even begin to imagine how she'll react to all this information. All those secrets and lies, all these things people will expect her to know about, all the suspicions and whispers that will hang over her head. She'll never be able to fully escape this." Her gaze turned back to Emily. "What do you think she'll tell her son?"
Emily sighed again. "I don't know." She really rather preferred not to think about it. Hell, she'd just as soon prefer to get this case out of her mind altogether.
JJ took stock of Emily's demeanor again. "You sure there's nothing else bothering you?" she asked, frowning.
"JJ, I'm fine. Really. It's just been a long case," Emily replied, sitting up straighter in her seat. She let out an exaggerated yawn then, stretching noticeably. "I think I might get me some coffee." She began reaching for her blanket and draping it around her shoulders.
JJ's eyes narrowed. "…all right," she said simply. "Off you go." She waved a hand to dismiss Emily, returning to her paperwork.
"Need anything?" Emily asked as she stood up.
"No, I'm good. Thanks, though."
"Okay." Emily tiptoed down the aisle towards the back, grabbing a cup and putting together her drink.
"I never even found out his real name."
"Does it matter?"
She hovered in that back room for a few minutes, quietly sipping her coffee, her eyes remaining on JJ the entire time.
"You have but to know an object by its proper name for it to lose its dangerous magic." – Elias Canetti
Reviews/critiques/etc. appreciated, as always.