Identity, 5/?
Title: Identity
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters/Pairing: Prentiss-centric - gen
Genre: Angst/Drama
Summary: In the clutches of Ian Doyle, Emily dwells on her past. Meanwhile, the team are forced to dig deep into their colleague’s secrets in order to find her.
Chapter Five
When Doyle came back, it was with a gun, and a butane torch. Emily highly doubted that he was planning on doing any cooking, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what the thing was for.
Emily had seen this man torture the locations of weapons drops out of hardened criminals. Whatever he had planned for her, she didn’t stand a chance.
He brushed her hair back from her neck, softly caressing. His face was so close to hers that she could smell his cologne, mixed with sweat, and it brought back overpowering memories of their time together.
‘Do you love me?’ He moved his head back slightly, and pressed the flame of the torch against the bare skin of her neck, and Emily resisted the urge to scream in pain.
‘I don’t love you,’ she said, teeth damn near biting through her lip. Doyle laughed, and pulled the torch away.
‘Answer the question again,’ he said, ‘Only this time, don’t lie.’
‘I wasn’t lying,’ Emily said, the tail end of her statement turning to a whimper as he pressed the torch into unmarked flesh. She could smell burning flesh, and it made her stomach roil.
‘You might have fooled me for two years, but you can’t fool me now. Do you love me?’
‘No,’ Emily managed, fingers digging into the chair. Technically, it was the truth. As Lauren Reynolds, she might have felt something that seemed like love, but she didn’t feel that now. Especially not when he was trying to torture her into saying otherwise.
‘Do you still have the ring I gave you?’ he asked, pulling the torch away once more.
‘No,’ Emily managed. Again, it was technically true. She might have only gotten rid of the thing earlier today (yesterday?) but it was no longer in her possession.
Emily was almost afraid that he was going to hit her with the torch again, but he didn’t. He sat in the chair opposite her, and set the torch down on the ground.
‘So you really want me to believe that you were just doing your job?’
Emily closed her eyes, trying to will away the pain that would not subside. ‘I was doing my job.’
‘Did they tell you to seduce me?’
‘They told me to get close to you.’
‘So the decision to break my heart was yours?’
Emily tried to collect her thoughts, but it wasn’t exactly easy. In addition to her throbbing head, she now had an agonising pain at her neck that was damn near crossing the barrier into complete numbness.
‘I did what I had to do to bring you down.’ Already, Emily knew that Ian Doyle could not be reasoned with. He hadn’t become the leader of a breakaway IRA sect because of his compassion, or his fairness (even if, behind closed doors, he had been a perfect gentleman).
He moved his chair forward, leaning in so that their foreheads were almost touching. She could have head-butted him, but the only thing that would have achieved was making her concussion even worse.
‘Did you love me?’ he asked, his breath hot against her lips.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, hyperaware of the way her eyes were starting to water, and not just from the pain.
She was half-surprised when he kissed her. Tied to the chair, there wasn’t much room for escape, and even then, part of her wanted to kiss him back. She didn’t see him move his right hand. Didn’t feel the gun until it was pressed against her kneecap. Didn’t hear the bang until it was too late to do anything about it.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop the scream that came when he pulled the trigger. He started to speak, and she almost couldn’t hear them over the sound of her own whimpering. The agony was like some fucked up form of sensory deprivation.
‘That is nothing compared to the pain I felt,’ he seethed, and for half a second, Emily was so sure that he was going to end it right there, that he was going to snap her neck, or shoot her again, or wrap his hands around her throat. She almost would have welcomed it.
But no.
That wasn’t Ian Doyle’s style.
He would kill her - of that, there was not a single shred of doubt in her mind. It was too soon, for that. She had seen the way he operated - the way Tsia and the CWS employees had died was practically humane, compared to the way Ian Doyle treated his worst enemies.
He stood, suddenly, gun hanging loose in his grip. There was not a single shed of regret - or doubt - in his eyes.
‘Your team are looking for you,’ he said. ‘Leaving the safe open - that was a nice touch. Do you think they’ll work out all the sordid details of our affair?’
‘They’ll find out what they need to find out,’ Emily said, even those few words were laborious.
‘I think maybe I’ll tell them, right before I kill them. Your betrayal will be the last thing they know.’
Emily’s heart stopped in her chest. ‘You son of a bitch. You said you wouldn’t hurt them, if they stayed out of this.’
He smiled, and it was a terrible, lecherous thing. ‘I said they were innocent. I didn’t say I wouldn’t hurt them.’
They started each other down, and Emily wasn’t sure she’d ever felt less intimidating in her life. She didn’t dare look down at her knee - from the way numbness had set in, she was pretty sure that she really didn’t want to see what it looked like.
‘All’s fair in love and war,’ Doyle said. ‘You’re the one who taught me that, Emily Prentiss.’
He walked away, and she couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters/Pairing: Prentiss-centric - gen
Genre: Angst/Drama
Summary: In the clutches of Ian Doyle, Emily dwells on her past. Meanwhile, the team are forced to dig deep into their colleague’s secrets in order to find her.
Chapter Five
When Doyle came back, it was with a gun, and a butane torch. Emily highly doubted that he was planning on doing any cooking, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what the thing was for.
Emily had seen this man torture the locations of weapons drops out of hardened criminals. Whatever he had planned for her, she didn’t stand a chance.
He brushed her hair back from her neck, softly caressing. His face was so close to hers that she could smell his cologne, mixed with sweat, and it brought back overpowering memories of their time together.
‘Do you love me?’ He moved his head back slightly, and pressed the flame of the torch against the bare skin of her neck, and Emily resisted the urge to scream in pain.
‘I don’t love you,’ she said, teeth damn near biting through her lip. Doyle laughed, and pulled the torch away.
‘Answer the question again,’ he said, ‘Only this time, don’t lie.’
‘I wasn’t lying,’ Emily said, the tail end of her statement turning to a whimper as he pressed the torch into unmarked flesh. She could smell burning flesh, and it made her stomach roil.
‘You might have fooled me for two years, but you can’t fool me now. Do you love me?’
‘No,’ Emily managed, fingers digging into the chair. Technically, it was the truth. As Lauren Reynolds, she might have felt something that seemed like love, but she didn’t feel that now. Especially not when he was trying to torture her into saying otherwise.
‘Do you still have the ring I gave you?’ he asked, pulling the torch away once more.
‘No,’ Emily managed. Again, it was technically true. She might have only gotten rid of the thing earlier today (yesterday?) but it was no longer in her possession.
Emily was almost afraid that he was going to hit her with the torch again, but he didn’t. He sat in the chair opposite her, and set the torch down on the ground.
‘So you really want me to believe that you were just doing your job?’
Emily closed her eyes, trying to will away the pain that would not subside. ‘I was doing my job.’
‘Did they tell you to seduce me?’
‘They told me to get close to you.’
‘So the decision to break my heart was yours?’
Emily tried to collect her thoughts, but it wasn’t exactly easy. In addition to her throbbing head, she now had an agonising pain at her neck that was damn near crossing the barrier into complete numbness.
‘I did what I had to do to bring you down.’ Already, Emily knew that Ian Doyle could not be reasoned with. He hadn’t become the leader of a breakaway IRA sect because of his compassion, or his fairness (even if, behind closed doors, he had been a perfect gentleman).
He moved his chair forward, leaning in so that their foreheads were almost touching. She could have head-butted him, but the only thing that would have achieved was making her concussion even worse.
‘Did you love me?’ he asked, his breath hot against her lips.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, hyperaware of the way her eyes were starting to water, and not just from the pain.
She was half-surprised when he kissed her. Tied to the chair, there wasn’t much room for escape, and even then, part of her wanted to kiss him back. She didn’t see him move his right hand. Didn’t feel the gun until it was pressed against her kneecap. Didn’t hear the bang until it was too late to do anything about it.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop the scream that came when he pulled the trigger. He started to speak, and she almost couldn’t hear them over the sound of her own whimpering. The agony was like some fucked up form of sensory deprivation.
‘That is nothing compared to the pain I felt,’ he seethed, and for half a second, Emily was so sure that he was going to end it right there, that he was going to snap her neck, or shoot her again, or wrap his hands around her throat. She almost would have welcomed it.
But no.
That wasn’t Ian Doyle’s style.
He would kill her - of that, there was not a single shred of doubt in her mind. It was too soon, for that. She had seen the way he operated - the way Tsia and the CWS employees had died was practically humane, compared to the way Ian Doyle treated his worst enemies.
He stood, suddenly, gun hanging loose in his grip. There was not a single shed of regret - or doubt - in his eyes.
‘Your team are looking for you,’ he said. ‘Leaving the safe open - that was a nice touch. Do you think they’ll work out all the sordid details of our affair?’
‘They’ll find out what they need to find out,’ Emily said, even those few words were laborious.
‘I think maybe I’ll tell them, right before I kill them. Your betrayal will be the last thing they know.’
Emily’s heart stopped in her chest. ‘You son of a bitch. You said you wouldn’t hurt them, if they stayed out of this.’
He smiled, and it was a terrible, lecherous thing. ‘I said they were innocent. I didn’t say I wouldn’t hurt them.’
They started each other down, and Emily wasn’t sure she’d ever felt less intimidating in her life. She didn’t dare look down at her knee - from the way numbness had set in, she was pretty sure that she really didn’t want to see what it looked like.
‘All’s fair in love and war,’ Doyle said. ‘You’re the one who taught me that, Emily Prentiss.’
He walked away, and she couldn’t do a damn thing about it.