InsaneJournal

RP: Emily
Who: Emily Prentiss
Where: Bathroom at the BAU house
When: Monday, September 26, 2011 -- early morning
Summary: After a week, Emily finally takes a moment to take stock of things in her life now.


There had been a time, as a teenager, when standing in front of her mirror in nothing but a bra and panties meant Emily was feeling insecure over her looks after some boy or another, the crush of the month, ignored her in the hallway or was seen kissing someone else. Her senior year of high school, she'd 'fixed' the problem by adapting a more rebellious style. But, she'd given that up in college once she realized it wasn't her, but a reflex reaction intended to annoy her mother. And, while she hadn't lied that time she'd told Jordan she still read those stupid articles in Cosmo on how to get noticed, she'd long ago stopped examining herself in the mirror for physical flaws.

Now, she examined herself in the mirror as a form of...penance, maybe? It was as though staring at the physical evidence of her mistakes would erase them and mend the damage she'd done, they'd all done.

It started when her eyes fell on the jagged, fading red line cutting diagonally down her abdomen. Brushing her fingers over it, Emily didn't even have to close her eyes to see his face, Doyle as he stared up at her, the length of wood buried inside her, only maybe three inches separating his hand from the point of entry, desperation in his eyes. Only, superimposed over those eyes were another pair, Reid's eyes staring accusingly at her, no desperation but betrayal written there.

And Morgan. She could still hear him defending Reid, forbidding her to tell the younger man the truth behind her decisions because her truth didn't matter in the face of how Reid had been hurt.

Don't ever tell him that again.

Does it matter what you think it was about?

Maybe it didn't. Not here. Not to anyone but her.

She pulled her slacks on, then her fingers moved higher, tracing lightly over the angry reddish brown lines of the brand over her heart, the heart she was sure she was supposed to wonder if she had, that the brander had considered blacker than his own. The deep etching of a shamrock shape, permanently discolored lines in her skin, had been a message: Don't fuck with what Ian Doyle considers his. And, she'd succumbed to the weakness, crying out in pain the entire time he was marking her. Marking her as his property, his to punish and his to discard. Signing his revenge. Only when the pain became so intense it blurred into a constant could she regain control of herself, focus on her mission, which at that point was only to stay alive until the team could find her.

And she'd barely done that.

When she closed her eyes at night, she could still see that computer screen, Rossi and Seaver crouching on the roof as Fahey's body fell in front of them. Fahey, the man she'd told Doyle to kill in a bid to save her friends. Hello, Lauren. The note of pleasure and pride in Doyle's voice made her sick, reminded her too much of the things she'd had to see and do in order to get close to him, the times she'd wondered if she was still pretending or if some part of her had started to feel some affection for the man who called himself a warrior, but was little more than a murderer.

But, the affection she'd felt for his son...that had been real. And she'd given up everything to protect him, held nothing back, as though he had been her son in the way Doyle had once asked her to be a mother to him. Had she done the right thing? Taking him from his father, the only life he knew, and giving him a life that was a lie in order to protect him from the violence, to offer him a choice that didn't include bloodshed and destruction? Had that been as much of a mistake as faking her own death appeared to be?

Sighing, she pulled on her shirt and buttoned it, followed it with her jacket and brushed out her hair.

Everything had made so much sense when she was lying in post-op with JJ explaining the arrangements she and Hotch were making, the reasons it was necessary. JJ had understood why Emily agreed, despite the fact she hated the idea of hiding, not being out there herself to protect Declan or the team.

But, here, after six months on her own, always looking over her shoulder, only to land in the middle of a Kubrik tale come to life, nothing made sense anymore.