As always, many thanks for the feedback on the last chapter - it's much appreciated.

We've got another new perspective for this chapter - the always enigmatic Clyde Easter. Emily's comment about Prague during their meeting piqued my interest and I wanted to explore it a bit.

Oh, and fair warning for a bit of strong language in this one (what can I say? Emily's feisty, lol).

Happy reading =)

"If you are going through hell, keep going." – Winston Churchill

"Can we get on with this already?" she snaps, her eyes glaring angrily at me.

"Got somewhere to be, darling?" I ask, my tone light and playful despite her apparent foul mood.

"Yeah, actually. I do. So let's get going."

"Where are you running off to?" I ask, this time my tone is more serious.

"Nowhere that's any of your business," she shoots back, her voice full of resentment.

"Darling, my team is my business. Can't have you running off on your own again. You seem to be getting good at that."

"I had good reason to. You try spending six months in seriously corrupted European politics, and then ten months deep in a human trafficking organization and tell me you wouldn't want to escape the world for a little while when it was all over."

I stare blankly back at her piercing gaze. "You just ran, Em," I say. Her gaze softens ever so slightly at my more gentle tone. "You didn't say anything to any of us."

"You knew exactly where I was," she says, crossing her arms as her frustration returns. "If I'd really wanted to disappear, you know I could have."

"That's beside the point. The fact is, we ended an almost year long operation and before we could even finish the debrief, you'd buggered off. Not exactly by the book, Em."

"I needed the time," she argues. She's not wrong. Those months were long for all of us, her especially. I wasn't exactly tickled when I got the call from Sean requesting us for this op so soon after everything in Prague. Despite what my reputation suggests, I'm not entirely heartless.

"I know."

"I don't think you do, Clyde. I lost my head. I blew my cover. I fucked up big time."

"Yeah, you did," I concede. "But we got the job done."

"And if you hadn't been quick on the trigger I'd be dead right now."

I exhale loudly. "We've got another one," I say, choosing to move on rather than continue to argue.

Her eyes close, and she throws her head back in frustration as she cringes. "Let's get this over with, then."

"You should know by now you can't rush me," I tease, trying to lighten the mood again. Her only response is a glare. "It's a big one."

"Quit with the dramatics. What the hell is it?" she snaps. Her patience had clearly long since run out.

"A bit feisty today, aren't we?"

"Don't start," she warns. "What are we heading into?"

"International weapons. We're going after Valhalla."

"Shit. That is big," she says with an exhale and leans forward, resting her elbows in the table between us. I hold back a chuckle. For a woman who was so irritated with being dragged in, she's showing a lot of interest. Typical Emily Prentiss. Holds such hatred for it, and yet is enthralled by her work.

"I told you."

"Where's the intel pointing?"

I hand her the file Sean had provided. "Man named Ian Doyle. Provisional IRA until he decided to go freelance. Now he's the big player, and they're looking to get dirt on him to put him away for good, and to get him to name names. If we're successful we can probably take out a dozen players at the same time."

"Who wants him?" she asks as she flips through the pages.

"Better question is who doesn't want him. That'll be decided when the time comes. We've got quite a bit of game ahead of us yet, but we'll be working mainly with Sean McCallister again."

"So what's the plan?" she asks, her gaze lingering on surveillance photos taken at his Irish home.

"Recon on Doyle has given us a solid way in."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this way in?" she groans, her gaze rising from the photos and meeting my own.

"You're his type..."

"No," she says forcefully, dropping the file and pushing herself away from the table before rising to her feet.

"Emily-"

"Absolutely not," she says, holding up a hand in warning.

"Tsia doesn't fit," I rationalize.

"Then get somebody else."

"Emily, we can't. They wouldn't have the training you do."

"Bullshit. You can get someone else."

"C'mon, darling. You can do this."

"Fuck that. I screwed up in Prague. I cracked."

"No, you slipped up."

"And that's an indication that I'm ready for another assignment?!"

"It happens, Emily. It's over and done with. You'd do well to forget it."

"Forget it?! How the fuck am I supposed to forget it?"

"Emily-"

"No, Clyde. Tell me. Tell me how I'm supposed to forget the bodies crammed into boxes for transport. Or the unspeakable manner in which they treated them. Or the wails from the children, calling for their mothers. All for what? A fucking profile? Doesn't seem worth it to me."

My gaze is drawn to her fiery eyes, which flare with every injustice and horrible act she describes. The emotion behind them is somewhat surprising. She'd always been the one able to compartmentalize – a skill for which she was well-known, and led to Jeremy bestowing upon her the nickname "Spock". Of course, that's not to say she was a cold-hearted bitch, because Emily Prentiss was far from it. I'd learned quickly that once you earned her trust, there was no one with more compassion or loyalty than her. But when it came to the cases and operations we dealt with, those emotions stayed locked up tight. So for me to be seeing this much emotion from her was shocking.

"Those terrorists were arrested and put into prison thanks to those profiles," I remind her, hoping it brings her some peace.

"I can't do another one, Clyde. I can't. I want out."

My eyes widen slightly. I knew she'd been struggling a bit lately – all the undercover work she'd done in the last few years was bound to wear her down – but I had no idea she wanted out. Things were more serious than I thought.

"I mean it. I want out."

I can hear the cracks in her armour in her voice. To anyone else, she sounds headstrong and stubborn. But to me, having known her all these years, she seems closer to breaking than I think I've ever seen. And it worries me.

"One last one," I bargain.

"Clyde," she says, her head turning and her eyes closing. I watch as she breathes deeply, trying to calm herself and lock away her emotions in her boxes.

"I'm serious. This will be the last one."

She opens her eyes and turns to face me, her head tilted slightly. "After this, I'm done."

"Understood."

"You'll do your homework on this one?"

"Of course, darling."

"No surprises this time."

"No one will harm you, I promise," I say sincerely. If anyone deserved a break, it was her, but we'd been called in and our timeline was tight.

"How long am I gonna be in there?"

I shake my head. "Hard to say. It will depend on him entirely, but I'd say minimum a year."

Her eyes widen slightly and I feel a small wave of guilt. "How close do I need to get?"

"Close," I say regretfully. "He holds his cards pretty tight to his chest."

She closes her eyes and exhales heavily before opening them and asking, "What's my cover?"

"You'll like this one. Weapons dealer. Means you get to play with the big guns," I say with a small smile.

She scoffs and shakes her head with a quiet, half-hearted chuckle. I mentally sigh in relief – so she was still in there, after all. "How long do I have until we get started?"

"A couple of months. You've got to do your homework first, and then we'll get you in."

"Where?"

"Boston."

"The States," she whispers. "God, I haven't been back there in years."

"No family reunions for you, I'm afraid."

"Trust me, I wouldn't be going to any family reunions," she says with a slight grimace.

I chuckle. "Right, I forgot your mum was the ice queen. When's the last time you talked to her anyway?"

She shrugs. "I'm not really sure. I think I might've called her in between the last two ops, just to tell her I'm alive."

"Touching."

"Says the man who avoids his own mother's calls," she fires back.

"Ah, yes, well... you've not met her. I dare say she'd give your mother a run for her money."

"Not likely."

"You should give your mum a call, Em. Let her know you're all right and all that. It'll probably be awhile before you can talk to her..."

"How do Sean, Tsia and Jeremy factor in?" she asks, swinging the focus back to the upcoming op.

"No contact with you, I'm afraid."

She swallows nervously. "None?"

I shake my head regretfully. "No, he'll be suspicious as it is. We can't risk introducing someone else into the scene."

"Do I get any contact?"

"Only with me. We'll arrange a few meets and drops for intel. Luckily your cover allows for frequent travel alone, so he won't be suspicious of you disappearing now and then."

"Oh good. I get to put my life in your hands. Again," she says sarcastically.

"You say that like I'm going to get you killed. And here I thought I'd done a half decent job of saving your ass in Prague."

Her cheeks tinge ever so slightly in embarrassment. "I didn't mean-"

"Relax, Em. No harm, no foul," I say with a smile, letting her know I wasn't holding anything against her. "Do you trust me?"

She meets my gaze and her eyes seem to pierce into my soul as she nods. "Yes."

"Good. Then believe me when I tell you that I won't let any harm come to you, my darling. We'll do this last one, and you can bugger off, never to see me again."

"Clyde," she says, her eyes holding gratitude. "Thank you for Prague."

"Of course, Em. Now off you go. You said you had somewhere to be. I'm guessing meeting up with Tsia to discuss my idiocy and general ass-hat behaviour?"

"Something like that," she says with a smile.

Thoughts? I'd love to hear 'em. Detailed reviews always bring an wide grin to my face. And smiling is good for your health... :)

Thankfully the inspiration has been rampant lately - lots of new chapters being written!