Author's Note: I just wanted to say I've been blown away by the fact that some of you have actually stuck with this little story for SEVEN YEARS. All I can say is that life got in the way, but I'd never given up on this story in my head. I would forget about it for a time and then it would be back, haunting my periphery. I'm going to see this one through to the end. I've already sketched it out, just need to fill in the dots. For those readers who've stuck on this long road with me, THANK YOU. And to those of you just finding this pop into your feed for the first time but have made it this far…thank you, too. And welcome.

…

Northern Ireland – March 2004

Clyde was as good as his word. The man could be a bit of a prick, but he'd yet to let her down.

When Emily returned to Northern Ireland on March 29 to pick up the RPG shipment, there was a lorry waiting for her in the far end of a lumber yard in Nutt's Corner. Just like Clyde promised. Emily barely exchanged half a glance with the man who left the keys in the ignition for her and exited the vehicle. She wouldn't be able to pick the guy out of a lineup if she had to.

Emily drove the lorry to the rendezvous point she had pre-arranged with Ian, an isolated grove that was about a thirty minute drive from Nutt's Corner. The place was so isolated it didn't' have a name. Ian had provided her only with GPS coordinates. The last leg of the drive was up little more than a dirt road. When she parked, she noticed she was literally in the middle of sheep grazing pasture.

She'd beaten Ian and his men there, but expected them at any minute. She leaned up against the back of the lorry and waited. A few moments later, she spotted two black SUVs coming up the road, kicking up clouds of dirt. Ian's men seemed to have acquired a pair of new Land Rovers while she was in Tuscany. These two were free of any bullet holes.

After the first vehicle came to a stop, Padraig and Michael emerged.

"Good to see you again, fellas," Emily said confidently.

"Hello, Lauren," Michael acknowledged her. Padraig remained as silent and surly as the last time Emily saw him.

Ian emerged from the second vehicle with Liam in tow. Two armed men she didn't recognize guarded the rear of the second car. The circumstances of their last visit to Northern Ireland had clearly convinced Ian to increase the size of his entourage.

Emily moved away from the lorry to allow the men to inspect the delivery. She made eye contact with Ian, shooting him a smile that he subtly returned.

Padraig and Michael grabbed a case from the Lori.

"Open it," Liam ordered them.

The men complied, lifting the case open to reveal what, to Emily at least, looked like a very large, very expensive weapon.

Emily could tell that even Ian, who was rarely impressed by anything, was pleased. He shot her quick, appreciative glance. At least as appreciative as she'd ever seen from him. Liam, however, wore a darker, altogether different expression. He was studying Emily with what looked like deep suspicion.

"Liam," Ian demanded. "Something bothering you?"

"None of our other suppliers can get stuff this good," Liam said. "She's too good to be true. And you're too blind to see it."

Oh Liam, Emily thought, good instincts. But you're too late. A few months ago, even a few weeks ago, Liam's suspicions would have scared Emily. But the last few weeks in Tuscany had changed the dynamic in Emily's favor. In the few days between her arrival at the villa and Ian returning from Belfast, Emily decided her best choice was to commit everything she had to her "relationship" with Ian. As much as his controlling possessiveness and penchant for violence repulsed her, she couldn't afford to dwell on that any longer. Her mission and possibly her survival depended on getting so close to him that he would trust her with anything. That was her best chance of figuring out who Valhalla was, the best chance of getting everything the JTF needed for the profile, and the best chance of getting her life back.

So Emily buried her revulsion, her disgust, her hesitation, and became everything Ian wanted. She was sarcastic but doting, smart but not too smart, self-assured but subtly submissive to him. She let him dominate. She did all of the things Emily Prentiss would never do, because Ian Doyle would never fall for Emily Prentiss. But Lauren Reynolds had Ian Doyle hook, line, and sinker.

Liam was right. Ian was to blind to see it. Because Emily had blinded him.

It hadn't come without a price, though. There were times she felt herself inhabiting Lauren Reynolds so fully that Emily Prentiss seemed to be slipping away, if just a little at a time. A few nights before heading back from Tuscany to Northern Ireland, Emily had even caught herself dreaming about Lauren Reynolds' parents. Parents who weren't even real.

"Get in the car," Ian instructed Emily. "The second one."

"I'll take care of her," he added to Liam.

Interesting, Emily thought. He'd never had her in the second car with him before.

"You always ride in the second car, why?" Emily asked, once she and Doyle were ensconced in the backseat of the second Land Rover.

"Because the first car takes the hit in an ambush," Ian explained.

You bastard, Emily thought. You made me ride in the first car in Belfast. That's why I got shot. And you were fine.

Stop it, cautioned a second voice in Emily's head. The voice she was beginning to associate with Lauren Reynolds. Don't question him.

She gave in to the second voice.

"So," Emily said to Ian. "Are you going to…'take care of me?'"

"Yes I am," Ian answered her.

"Good."

Emily grasped Ian's head and began kissing him passionately, letting Lauren Reynolds fully take the driver's seat.

"Hey," Ian said, after a moment, staring deeply into Emly's eyes. "I need to ask you something."

"Hmmmm?" Emily answered.

"You never ask me about my business. About Valhalla. Why is that?"

"I just assume you'll tell me when you're ready to tell me," she said deferentially.

"Well, uh, there is something I want to tell ya," Ian said, smiling slyly.

"Okay," Emily laughed nervously, as Ian began fiddling in his interior coat pocket.

"I was gonna get you the ring," Ian told her. "But you said you weren't really the marrying type."

The laughter nearly died in her throat when she saw what Ian held in his hand. From his pocket, he'd pulled a long, gold neck chain. On the end of it was a ring.

Not just any ring. To Emily it looked like a gimmal ring. An old European symbol of betrothal and marriage.

Emily was stunned to nearly the point of paralysis. She had to will herself to react.

"It's beautiful," she stammered, finally.

"Look at me," Ian said. Emily locked eyes with his intense, steely gaze.

"I am Valhalla."

There it was. The information she'd been slowly probing and poking and risking her neck for. It had been staring her in the face this whole time. Don't react, she told herself. Do. Not. React.

"I have no idea what kind of life we're gonna have," Ian continued. "But I want you in mine."

As she went through the motions of embracing Ian, she had only one thought in mind. She had to talk to Sean.

"Why don't we go back to the cottage by Belfast and celebrate," Emily suggested.

"I like that idea," Ian agreed.

Once they arrived at the cottage, Emily looked for any opportunity to separate herself from Ian. She would only need 30 seconds. On the walkway to the cottage's front door, she spotted a chance. She intentionally tripped, spattering herself in the mud puddle she'd spotted just beside the walkway.

"Dammit!" she feigned frustration. Well, mostly feigned. She was rather fond of the soft cream sweater that had just become a casualty of her ruse.

"Are you alright?" Ian asked.

"Yeah, I'm just a klutz today I guess," Emily said, noticing, to her satisfaction, that she'd succeeded in getting some mud in her face and hair. "What a mess, though. Let me take a quick shower while you pick us a bottle of wine…or two."

"If you're sure you're alright," Ian agreed. "Just don't be long," he added, suggestively.

"Oh I won't."

Once Emily had the shower water running and was sure Ian was occupied, she seized her chance, again dialing Sean's phone from memory.

"What is it?" Sean said calmly but quickly, answering immediately.

"Sean, can you hear me?" Emily asked, trying to keep her voice below the volume of the water.

"Barely," Sean said. "What's going on?"

"Ian Doyle is Valhalla," Emily said quickly. At first, she wasn't sure that Sean had heard her.

"Are you sure?" Sean asked.

"Yes."

"You need to be completely sure."

"I am," Emily assured him. "I don't have much time. I have to got. But it's him, Sean. 100 percent."

Emily didn't divulge that she'd learned this in the middle of a quasi-marriage proposal. She didn't have time for the questions that was going to invite.

"Alright," Sean said. "Don't forget to…"

"Delete the call. I know."

Emily swiftly hung up and did just that.

…

Tuscany – May 2004

Whatever Sean decided to do with the information that Doyle was Valhalla, Emily was in the dark. Two days after Ian gave Emily the ring, they left Northern Ireland and returned to Tuscany together. In the ensuing weeks, they were together almost constantly. Now that the JTF knew Valhalla's identity, there was nothing else worth the risk of trying to make another call from under Ian's nose. All Emily could do now was collect as much information as possible to use for the profile. And wait.

For all intents and purposes, Ian and Emily were essentially living like a married couple. It was not lost on Emily that the most "normal" domestic living she'd experienced in her adult life—perhaps her entire life—was coming while she pretended to be someone else. And although Emily was constantly on alert to make sure she was keeping Ian happy, it was all becoming a bit…boring.

At least Declan was around to keep things fun.

"Ready or not, here I come." she opened her eyes to see the boy smiling mischievously at her from the other side of the living room table. Declan was adorable, but he had a lot to learn about hiding.

"I'm gonna get you!" she teased him, chasing him playfully as he crawled in circles around the table.

She let him do a few laps before picking him up and sweeping him into her arms. The boy squealed in delight.

Emily hadn't noticed Ian come in and start watching them from behind the couch. He was wearing a broad grin that was unusual for him. There was no agenda to it. No slyness. No menace. No flirting. He looked genuinely happy.

"Hi," Emily said, returning his smile.

"Louise," Ian summoned the housekeeper. "Come take your boy please."

Louise came in and gently guided Delcan away. Emily knew it was approaching his naptime.

"Did you ever think about that?" Ian asked her, nodding toward Declan.

"Having kids?" Emily laughed with mild exasperation. He had to be joking.

"It's a little hard with what we do, don't you think?" Emily answered, more seriously.

"Maybe you need the right man to do it with," Ian suggested. "And a son who's crazy about you."

No, Emily thought. He can't be.

"I thought he was your housekeeper's?" Emily hesitated.

"Louis raises Declan so no one can use him against me," Ian explained. "But he's mine. And he needs a mother."

What happened to his real mother? was Emily's first thought. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"I can't do that," Emily reasoned. "Not here."

"Then I'll get you out," Ian offered.

"Or," Emily countered, "I could get you out. I have resources. Contacts. He would be safer. And he'd have a father."

Ian's face darkened slightly.

"You know what I am, Lauren," Ian said. "A warrior. I lead warriors. I raise warriors. I can't just leave."

"You want me to raise your son, so he can have life?" Emily asked, arms folded.

"Is it that bad a life?" Ian demanded.

Emily wanted to vomit. Her mind flashed to Belfast. To the underground room where she'd watched Ian brutally kill. That was the life Ian wanted to condemn Declan to. To either grow to be the man in the chair, receiving blow after blow until his life was ended, or grow to be the man administering the blows and pulling the trigger. Emily wasn't sure which was worse. What sort of man would condemn his child to such a life of violence? With all of the resources he had?

A monster, Emily reminded herself. She could bury herself in Lauren Reynolds and pretend with all her might to love this man. To find him interesting, attractive, companionable. But all of that was only temporary. At times like this, like in Belfast, Emily could only see him for what he really was. The man was a monster. And he was trying to make his son one too.

This was one bridge she would not cross. Not even temporarily. Not even pretending.

"There are so many things I would do to make you happy," Emily told Ian. She heard the pattering of footsteps behind her. Declan had managed to escape his naptime and run back into the room. Emily held him tightly beside her.

"But I can't do this. Go to your father," Emily instructed Declan.

Declan ran to Ian's side and hugged his father's leg. He barely came up to Ian's waist.

Emily couldn't take much more right now. She turned away from Ian an Declan, absentmindedly fiddling with the necklace and ring he'd gotten her just days before.

"I need to go lie down," Emily said.

"Oh, is it your naptime too, Lauren?" Declan asked sweetly.

"Yeah, Little Spider," she sighed. "Something like that."

…

Emily pretended to sleep, but her head was swimming. How could I not see it? She marveled. Despite the fact that Ian had almost a dozen live-in staff somewhere on the property, Declan was the only child ever around. He treated Louise far better than any of his other employees. So rarely interested in anything other than himself, Ian paid an unusual amount of attention to the boy. Other than Emily herself, who bent over backwards to keep Ian happy, Declan seemed to be the only person to make Ian smile. So many signs. And she'd just missed them.

And what had she been thinking. Offering to get Ian out? It had been the briefest seconds of terrible weakness. In her gut reaction to protect Declan, Emily Prentiss had popped out from beyond the veil of Lauren Reynolds and made an offer she could not possibly keep. There was no world in which she could use her contacts to get Ian out of anything. Assuming Ian didn't catch on to her and kill her, he was going to prison. And if she tried to help him, she'd be going there with him.

It was a stupid, stupid mistake. One she could not afford to make again.

And as much as she loathed the idea, she was going to have to mend fences with Ian. She couldn't afford risking him wanting to end the relationship—or worse. While there was obviously no question of her actually going off the grid to raise Declan into a life of crime, she needed to make Ian believe she'd consider it. She needed to buy herself some time until the JTF decided to come and get her out. And maybe, just maybe, Declan would have a chance with his father out of the picture.

When Emily heard Ian coming to the bedroom, she steeled herself to make amends.

"Are you asleep?" he asked from the doorway?

"No," she said truthfully. She propped herself up on the bed, making room for him to sit next to her. But he remained standing.

"I thought you were different than the others," he said. Emily could quite decipher whether his tone was sad or angry.

"What others?" she asked innocently.

"You're not the first woman I've tried to bring into my life," he said.

That's an understatement, Emily thought. Based on the number of photographs Emily remembered from the JTF office she wasn't the twentieth woman Ian had tried to bring into his life. The others just happened to have had the option of leaving.

"What happened to Declan's mom?" Emily asked.

"She died a little after he was born," Ian said. "Drugs."

"I'm sorry," Emily said.

"I'm not," Ian said coldly. "She never cared about Declan."

Never cared about Declan or never cared about you? Emily wondered.

"Look, Ian" Emily hesitated. "I'm sorry about earlier. It's just…a lot to take in at once."

"I never told any of the others," he said. "You're the first one. Other than Declan's mother. You're the first one."

"Why me?" Emily asked.

"Like I said, Declan's crazy about you," Ian explained. "And you've proven your loyalty to me."

"My loyalty?" Emily asked. "When did I ever give you a reason not to trust me?"

"You didn't" Ian said. "But I had to be sure."

"And you were sure when…?"

"It started in Belfast," he said. "When you fought back for me during the Fegan ambush."

I didn't fight back for you, Emily thought. I was saving my own skin.

"And then then you brought me the supplies for Chechnya, just like you said," Ian continued. "That's when I knew. That's why I brought the ring."

"And that's why you put me in the second car," Emily said wryly.

"What?"

"The first car takes the hit in an ambush" Emily reminded him. "You always had me in the first car. Until I proved my loyalty."

"You don't miss much," Ian chuckled. "That's for sure."

Except Declan. I missed your secret child right in front of my face.

"But you need to stay loyal to me now, Lauren," he carried on, a bit ominously. "You need to honor my wishes for my son."

Emily very carefully measured what to say next.

"I understand," she submitted. "I just…need a little time. That's all. I'm not used to that kind of life."

"You're living that life right now," he pointed out.

"I mean raising kids for it," Emily said. "My parents didn't raise me for this kind of life. I just got restless. And maybe a little bit reckless. That was all on my own."

It was the truest thing she'd ever told Ian.

"Alright," Ian agreed. "It is a lot, I suppose. I understand if you need a little time."

Emily felt the knot in her chest loosen ever so slightly. It seemed as if she'd salvaged things. For now at least. But she wasn't quite sure what a little time meant.

Sean, Emily thought. You'd better be working on getting me the hell out of here.