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“What’re you having?”
“Bourbon. Neat.” She didn’t even have to think about it as she tossed a note onto the counter and watched the barman fix her drink.
The bar was small, smelly and very masculine. There were four bikers playing pool in the back corner. There was a skinhead buying dope from some Deadhead who looked like he still thought it was Woodstock. There were a couple of frat-boy types playing the slot machines and a woman – likely a hooker – with a client huddled over the jukebox.
All in all the Perfect bar for her for right now.
“Bourbon.” The bartender announced gruffly, setting the drink in front of her.
She nodded curtly and raised the glass to her lips. And as soon as the aroma hit her, she nearly threw up right over the bar. She quickly set it back down and called to the barman. “I changed my mind. Make it a beer.” She pushed the bourbon away and slid another note towards the guy.
“Whaddaya want me to do with that?” he asked, nodding to the abandoned drink.
“You drink it. Or throw it away. I don’t care – I don’t want it.”
“Suit yaself.” He shrugged, downing the liquor in one gulp and replacing it with a beer. “Women. Never make up their minds.” He scoffed.
“Sante.”
“Huh?”
“Salut. Za zvorovie. Cheers.”
“Yeah. Right.” He huffed before moving to the end of the bar to serve the waiting bikers.
She eyed them discretely, as the Deadhead meandered over to them and they palmed money to him as he palmed dope to them. She chuckled to herself – lucky for them she wasn’t on duty right now. Or for the foreseeable future. And right now, she envied them that they were able to escape reality simply with a little coke.
The barman was talking about her, she was sure – she could feel the bikers watching her – so she downed the beer and headed out, keeping her gait casual, her hand brushing against her concealed carry just to reassure herself it was there.
Once outside she took a deep breath. Then another. And another. Another. One more to fight the nausea before she headed back to her car and sat there.
Bourbon. Fucking bourbon. That wasn’t her drink; it was Lauren’s. If she was still Lauren, she would have downed it and called immediately for another.
She shook the thought away. She wasn’t Lauren any more. She wasn’t with Ian anymore – buying his weapons and having the occasional snort herself to maintain her cover. Screwing him. Literally as well as figuratively. Shit, she wasn’t undercover – or in uniform. Or ‘working for Interpol’ - at all right now.
A sabbatical, her file stated. A ‘break’, Clyde had called it. A ‘time to reconnect to yourself’ her mandated therapist had told her. Tsia had it right though: ‘You’ve gotta get your head together, Em, and decide if you still want to be in the game’. That what Tsia had said, and it was true. She had to decide if she wanted to carry on in her job. Shit, she had to decide if she was even capable of it anymore.
Right now, the last thing Emily Prentiss wanted to do was be a cop. She didn’t want to follow any more Goddamn rules. She didn’t want to have to file any more goddamn reports; or fuck any more goddamn criminals; or lie and cheat and… fucking none of it. Every damn thing she’d had to do as an ‘undercover operative’ could go to fucking Hell as far as she was concerned!
She glared at herself in the rearview mirror – heavy mascara; red lips. She’d cut her hair as soon as Lauren was ‘dead’. Cut it and dyed it jet black again. But even though, on the surface, she looked like Emily Prentiss once more – on the inside she had no fucking idea of who she was. Lauren was still occupying more of her than Emily, and she wondered if she would ever, truly, be rid of Lauren Reynolds.
She heard the bar doors slam closed and she looked across to see two of the bikers exiting. They walked past the row of Harleys and headed towards her own vehicle.
“Discretion is the better part of valour.” She muttered, starting the engine and getting the Hell outta Dodge.
She drove for a long time. She didn’t even know where she was driving to – she just kept on going. She drove until the moon was the only source of light. And she was still driving when the sun began to rise. She pulled up at a gas station and filled up, bought a chocolate bar and a coffee and sat on the cement to watch the world go by.
It felt like hours before she kinda came back to herself. Checking her watch, she groaned. Three hours sat there, zoned out, in a state of waking sleep. Terrific. Now not only was she unsure of who she was - she was unsure of where she was as well.
Her hips complained as she rose to her feet and wandered back to her car. She really ought to get back home. She hadn’t been back to her apartment for almost nine months. Since the Valhalla mission ended, she’d spent a week on Tsia’s couch and another week in a motel, unable to face returning to Emily Prentiss’ apartment. To Emily Prentiss’ life.
Why was that?
Her therapist asked that same question when Emily had accidentally let slip where she’d been staying, and Emily had reeled off some trite response about some shit or other without really sitting with the question. Well she’d been sitting long enough now, and she knew the answer. She had always known the answer.
She was afraid to become Emily again because she no longer remembered who Emily was. And if she were to let Lauren go as well? If she did that, then she wouldn’t have any identity at all. Better the Devil you know, she mused, and Lauren was someone that she knew. Emily? Not so much anymore.
Then, of course, there was the fear of recreating herself once again; the way she had done countless times throughout her life. The obedient, well behaved child; the dedicated student; the mannered socialite; the rebellious goth; the condemned soul; the drinker; the depressive; the traveller; the polyglot; the translator; the party girl; the Federal Agent; the spy; the liar; the whore…
On and on and on.
She was too tired to do it again.
Who would she be now? She had no idea. The only thing that she felt certain of, was that she could never return to Interpol. It wasn’t just the mental toll that eight months – the longest stint she had ever been in that deep – in a terrorist’s bed had taken. It wasn’t just the nightmares that came to her after the things she had seen Ian Doyle do to people… things she had to do herself. It wasn’t just the lingering constant paranoia that she would be found out, nor was it remainder – reminder – of Lauren that permeated her whole existence right now. It wasn’t any of those things.
It was Declan.
It was knowing that she had gone rogue; knowing that she had broken one of the few codes that that she still had; knowing that she hid the boy, the son of a terrorist, so that her own people – the so-called ‘Good Guys’ in Interpol and the CIA – would never get their hands on him and ruin his sweet, innocent life any further than Doyle had already ruined it.
She broke every rule in the book, so how could she go back there and pretend that she was the same person? Pretend that she was a good person? Pretend that she had the moral high ground to still uphold the law?
She needed a new start. Clyde had already told her that if Ian Doyle ever learned the truth about her, that he would come after her. Hell, she knew that before she even accepted the Valhalla mission. Remaining with Interpol now felt too dangerous – and not just for her. If Ian learned the truth, she knew, without a doubt, that he would make her whole team pay. It was his modus operandi.
But without Interpol, what could she do? She needed to be doing something where she could make a difference and do some good. She had to balance the scales – ‘do more good than bad’ – that was the key…but lately, she couldn’t see the good through all the shit.
And that was when she found herself parked outside Clyde’s house. It was still very early, so she sat waiting, in her car, for a more reasonable hour. When she had been sat there for only about fifteen minutes, Clyde’s door swung open, and he stood on the doorstep. “Are you coming in, Emily or not?” he called. “The neighbours will start gossiping if you sit there much longer.”
“You should be asleep.” She noted as she approached him and he ushered her inside.
“So should you.” He replied. “It looks as though you haven’t slept in much longer than me.” he added, pointing at her bloodshot eyes. “Drink?”
“Sure.” She nodded. “Anything but bourbon.”
Clyde chuckled. “I was thinking along the lines of coffee – some of us have to work today!”
“Some of us don’t.” she shrugged.
He sighed and cracked a beer for her while he waited for his own coffee to brew.
“Thanks.” She picked at the label on the bottle until Clyde was seated in the armchair opposite her, steaming coffee in hand.
“So…what have you decided?”
She scoffed. “Gee, I’m fine, thanks for asking. How about yourself?”
Clyde raised a brow and eyed her. “I know you too well to sit and do the small talk bollocks with you, Emily. You came here for a reason – and there’s only one reason you would be awake at this ungodly hour… so spit it out, huh?”
“I can’t come back. To Interpol.” She said.
Clyde nodded. “Are you sure?”
Emily exhaled heavily. “There are SO many things I am not sure of anymore… but this? This I am sure of.” She shook her head. “I can’t go through that again, Clyde, I’m sorry. I…I used to love it, you know? The danger… the act of being someone else. Doing good. But, uhm…that mission? Lauren? It was too much for me, Clyde. I can’t get rid of her and I feel like I’m going mad.”
“Have you talked to the therapist about this?”
“I see her once a week.”
He scoffed. “I know you see her – but have you talked to her?”
She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “Half of it is classified, Clyde. How the fuck do I ‘talk’ about it?!”
Clyde chuckled. “Case details are classified, Emily – your feelings are not.”
“They’re also redacted.” She sassed.
“Okay – I won’t push you. Especially now. But you can always come to me if you would prefer that to a trained professional. I can see how deeply this has affected you.”
“It’s never been a problem before, you know, coming out of it.” She admitted, picking at her nails.
Clyde nodded. “But this time feels different.”
Emily nodded. “I don’t think I can do this anymore Clyde.”
“How much time do you need to decide?” he asked, blowing the steam from his mug.
She exhaled heavily. “I think I already have.”
Clyde’s heart sunk a little. Emily Prentiss was a damn good operator and replacing her would not be easy. But aside from that, she had become a friend, and while he hated to see her go, he also hated what this last mission had done to her. He hated how far she had to go. He hated how long she was embedded with that asshole. These days, when he looked into her eyes, they were empty. Drained. Afraid.
“Do you want to remain on the team but return to more regular duties?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I can do that either: to be that close to missions and watch from the sidelines? That’s… that’d be hard, Clyde.”
“A clean break, then?”
“Yeah.”
Clyde smiled. “So what do you want to do? A complete change of career?”
“I think that is a step too far!” she laughed. “I need to be out there doing something – something good, Clyde. I want to be out in the field. I want to put bad guys away.”
“But as yourself, right?” he nodded.
“Yeah. If I can remember who that is.”
“It’ll come back.” He assured her. “I’ve been there myself – it may take a little while, but you haven’t lost yourself forever.” He paused, watching her. “Leave it with me, okay? I have a few contacts I can run down for you. Have you considered the FBI?”
“I thought about it before I signed up with Interpol.” She nodded. “But it wasn’t exciting enough.”
Clyde laughed. “How does it sound now?”
“I think I’ve had enough excitement for a little while. Do you really think they’ll have me?”
He chuckled and moved across the room to sit beside her. “My dear, they will be falling over themselves to have you!”
Emily couldn’t help the smile that touched her lips. She couldn’t help the feeling of relief that surged through her body. “What if they ask questions about my job here?”
Clyde shrugged. “Anything classified must remain so. I can have your paperwork amended to omit any reference to undercover work. It isn’t a problem. How does that sound?”
Emily blew out a breath. “Good. It sounds good.”
“You need to take some time away for yourself before you dive into another posting. I’ll get everything ready and how about you call me in a month and tell me what you decide, okay? It is vital that you step away from everything for a while. Take a vacation; visit family; go to Disneyworld – whatever it is you need to do to make yourself whole again. And I will be available if you need to call – and I know Tsia, Sean and Jeremy would say exactly the same. We are still a team, Emily. We always will be – no matter what you wind up deciding, okay?”
Clyde paused. “I wonder if I should have pulled you out of there sooner.”
“We had a job to do.” She shrugged. “Extracting me before we got enough evidence to nail him would have meant I did that all for nothing. At least he is locked away now.”
“And the toll it took on you?”
“I’ll get over it.”
Clyde hummed noncommittally. “What was it that made you decide to call it quits, Emily? Honestly.”
Emily downed the last of her beer and set the bottle carefully on the table. “Maybe that is classified too.”
He sat back in his seat and raised a brow. “The mission is over. The reports have all been filed. The CIA is satisfied with what they have. Whatever you tell me will not go any further. We’re already moving on to a new target a new case. This one is officially ‘over’. Sealed. Done with.”
Emily chewed at her lip and shook her head. “I can’t tell you, Clyde. If Ian ever found out…. Christ. He’d kill us all.”
“Something to do with the boy?” Clyde asked softly. The look in her eyes told him that he had hit the proverbial nail on the head. He nodded. “Fair enough. Maybe you’re right about it being something I don’t want to know. My lips, for the record, will remain sealed.”
“Thanks Clyde.”
“As for your new posting – I’ll be in touch in a month. If you still want it, I will set the wheels in motion. Deal?”
“Deal.” She agreed.
“And talk to Tsia, for God’s sake, Emily. She’s been worried about you. Maybe she can help you get back to yourself, hmm?”
Emily nodded. “Yeah, okay.“ She stood to leave. “Thanks again, Clyde – for everything.”
“You did a good job, Emily – never forget that. You’ve been a damn fine Agent as well as a damn fine friend. I haven’t said this enough – but I’m proud of you.”
Emily couldn’t help with blush that touched her cheeks. “I guess I’ll see you around.” She nodded, heading for the door.
“Count on it – and call me!”
“Sure.”
“Oh, and Emily? Before you go, I have one final order for you.”
She paused and waited.
“Be proud of yourself, Emily. Be proud of the work you’ve done and the person you are. You don’t need Lauren anymore: Emily Prentiss is worthy of your love. Remember that, Emily.”