Cat and NCIS Obsessed requested a Prentiss/Doyle story, and I've been aching to write one of these and she kindly supplied me some prompts. So, this one is for her. I hope it's what you were hoping for! Anyone else wants a Prentiss/Doyle story, feel free to prompt me, though only for one-shots. I can't take on any chaptered stories right now. I have a morbid fascination with these two, and I find Doyle inexplicably sexy. Gotta be that bad boy thing…

It's set before the show, while Emily is undercover. For those of you who don't remember, SIS is the Secret Intelligence Service, the British CIA I think, and also the organization Clyde Easter works for.

Thanks for reading, and please review!

Emily sat on the lounge chair, watching Declan run up to the incoming surf, and then turn with a shriek and run giggling away. His blond hair was plastered to his head from his earlier swim, and his blue eyes were sparkling with delight. He had his father's smile, the smile Ian wore when he was genuinely happy, not the cold, distant one he used in business dealings. It had taken her months of earning his trust before she saw that smile. She wondered how she hadn't noticed it on Declan earlier.

She wondered if their child would have his smile too.

Nine days. It had been nine nerve-wracking days since she should have gotten her period. Nine days in which she still hadn't managed to work up the nerve to take a test.

Declan's laugh got louder as he barreled toward her, and she put on her own smile. No. Lauren's smile. It wasn't hard to put on a smile for the little boy. She even laughed when he threw himself at her, his slippery, wet little body cold against her sun-baked skin. She held him close and kissed the top of his head as the little boy snuggled deeper into her arms. She made a mental note that he could probably use more sunscreen, he was only in swim trunks and it probably all washed off.

He sighed and laid comfortably against her chest, and they both stared out at the ocean. It was a beach in the south of France, enjoying the last days of the warm weather before the fall blew in. For Ian, it was a working vacation. While she relaxed with Declan on a beach, he met with some contacts, no doubt at a bar that sold good Irish whiskey. Though, it a pinch he'd settle for Scotch; French liquors didn't appeal to him, though he did occasionally enjoy the bite of a little Armagnac.

Tomorrow they'd leave Declan with Louise, and she'd go with him on a buy. Ian trusted her eye for weapons, knew that she would take no more than five or ten minutes to examine them and tell him if they were worth buying. She didn't want to think about how much time and effort she'd put into studying weapons before starting this assignment. Emily was pretty sure there wasn't a single weapon she couldn't fire, take completely apart, clean, and put back together, all in under two minutes.

Today though, was for her and Declan. Somewhere out there one of her JTF team members was watching them, mentally cataloguing every detail. She didn't care though. They still believed that Declan was Louise's son, and Louise was always around because she kept Ian's homes; naturally, Lauren would grow attached to the boy. Emily had lied and told them as much.

She ran a hand over his wet hair, and tried very hard not to think about the time in the day when she could no longer see this little boy everyday. Hold him tight and safe in her arms like he was her own child. She tried not to think about what she'd do if Declan's younger sibling was actually growing in her womb. There was a handful of options, and she wasn't thrilled with any of them

An abortion. Emily didn't know if she could go through with it, not a second time.

Adoption. That would require her assignment ending before Ian realized she was pregnant. It would also require her being able to hand over the child she'd just give birth too. She was fairly certain she couldn't do that.

Then, there was having it and keeping it. This would also require the assignment ending before Ian detected the pregnancy. It was also undoubtedly leave her struggling under the scorn of every other operative in the intelligence community, and would likely result in the CIA terminating her contract.

You can't give birth to your undercover assignment's child, and expect no repercussions. Maybe she could join the FBI, have a nice, normal, stable job for a while.

Or, she could take Ian up on his offer from several months ago. And that option was so enticing it was downright terrifying. She would have to tell Ian who she really was, and beg his forgiveness. He might kill her. No, he would most certainly kill her, if she wasn't carrying his child. He wouldn't be able to kill her then. After nine months of waiting and thinking, he'd realize what a coup it was to turn a CIA agent and maybe let her live.

She'd become Lauren forever.

Could she abandon Emily Prentiss, and allow herself to completely dissolve into Lauren Reynolds?

Lauren had a man who loved her, his son that she adored (and who loved her back), and she was quite possible carrying his second child.

Emily…Emily had nothing and no one, except maybe the progeny of a psychopathic terrorist in her womb.

Why wouldn't she want to be Lauren?

But then there was the part she couldn't forget. Ian was an evil bastard, responsible for hundreds of deaths, and unquantifiable torture and mayhem. No matter how charming, how sweet her was to her, how gentle and giving a lover he could be, he was still an evil bastard. Her fingers went to her throat at that thought, and tangled in the necklace there, the necklace that was always there. Maybe she could overlook that. God knew she had flexible morals. But could she raise his child—his children—knowing that he'd eventually turn them into ruthless killers and criminals?

That she couldn't overlook. Not with Declan curled up against her body, all innocence and kindness.

"Lauren?"

She glanced down, sunglasses sliding slightly down her nose. "Yes, baby?"

"Will you play with me in the water?" He looked up at her, blue eyes seeming to shine right through her.

She smiled. "Of course I will."

Declan broke into a wide grin, and scrambled quickly off her lap. He was about to run off, but she caught his arm before he could. "Sunscreen first."

He scrunched his little face up, and whined. "But I hate it, it feels sticky."

Emily rolled her eyes, and squeezed some of the sunscreen out onto her fingers. "You'll forget you have it on in two minutes."

And, he did. Seconds after she applied it, he was racing toward the water again. Emily followed much slower, watching his with a smile on her face, taking in more time with him, knowing soon life would get very complicated. If not for one reason, for the other.

She kept on the edge of the water, hoping to keep the bottom of her sarong dry. Declan splashed around, dancing in the water, giggling madly and having fun just being a kid. Something he didn't do in front of his father. Emily watched and smiled, and found her hands almost involuntarily drifting toward her abdomen. Almost as if they didn't belong to her, her fingers splayed out, cradling where the baby would be.

Her baby. Ian's baby. Was it wrong that part of her was a little excited? That part of her fantasized telling Ian about it, as if they were any other two people on the planet. He would be ecstatic. He would hold her and they would kiss, and talk about nurseries and names. It was a fairy tale. A beautiful, sweet little fairy tale.

If Emily Prentiss had learned one thing in her lifetime, it was that fairy tales were complete and utter bullshit.

Still, she cradled the baby that might be, and watched the little boy she loved dearly and suddenly knew what motherhood felt like.

This must be Hell.

To have something so precious, and to know it will never really be yours.

Suddenly, arms wrapped around her, and she jumped, whipping around, ready to fight off the intruder. Then she sighed, and her body relaxed. Lauren turned back toward the ocean, adjusting her arms so his could slide his around her body. "Did you get everything finalized?"

"We did…Liam doesn't trust the guy."

She leaned back into him. "Do you?"

Ian was silent several minutes, holding her tight against his body. He sighed, his warm breath tickling her ear. "No, I suppose."

"You think his merchandise is bad, or his word?"

"If his merchandise is bad, then so's his word. Though I've you to check the merchandise."

She titled her head back, and looked at him. "Then let Liam worry about his word, and everything's covered."

Ian smiled. His real smile. Declan's smile. Then he kissed her temple. "Have it all figured out, do you?"

She smiled. "Yep."

He chuckled. Then he titled her head further toward him, and pressed his lips against hers. His tongue asked for entrance and she freely gave it, her back pressed flush against the cotton of his shirt.

They broke it when they both needed breath and resumed their earlier position. Declan was still playing in the water, running toward the waves. It was probably the only reason Doyle hadn't objected, as long as his boy faced the torrent of water, he was at least developing courage. Ian's tight grip around her waist loosened, though he didn't move, and his hands came to rest over her bare abdomen. With her arms around his, their hands were both settled over what could be their baby.

This must be Hell.

Emily sat on the toilet, her underwear pulled down just past her knees. They were lavender, satin panties, the kind that always made Ian smile. He liked satin, the way it caressed her skin.

They were soaked with blood.

Her period had finally arrived, nine days late and so obscenely heavy it would have taken super powers to get a pad or tampon quick enough. And now she couldn't stop staring at it. Her eyes were fixed on the dark red, mind whirring and completely empty all out once.

That was it. Nine days of agonizing, fearing, hoping, wishing, and god knows what else, and it all boiled down to this moment. There was a time almost twenty years ago that she would have cried with joy at seeing all that blood. Now she just felt empty.

And she hated herself. She'd wanted this baby, beyond all the complications and implications, she'd wanted the child that never actually existed. Emily would have found a way to deal, she would have survived whatever fall-out came from her pregnancy. If there was one thing Elizabeth Prentiss had taught her daughter, it was how to survive anything, and hold your head up doing it.

Or Emily would have disappeared. Given up the person she was, and dissolved herself into Lauren. Ian might be a sociopath, but he'd taken great pains to take care of Lauren, and would more so if she was the mother of his child. He would protect her from his enemies and hers, and she could have that fairy tale.

That she'd considered it, that she'd even wanted it a little bit, was enough to make her stomach feel like it dropped down to her feet. She could have done it, just like that, abandoned everything she knew, abandoned everything that made her Emily, to become a fantasy that a terrorist was in love with.

A knock on the door startled her, and her gaze finally moved from her bloody underwear. "Lauren?" Ian's voice, of course. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she called. "Be out in a minute."

She reached into her travel bag on the bathroom counter and pulled out a tampon. Emily cleaned herself up, tossed the underwear in the small garbage can, and then tugged her dress back down.

They'd gone to dinner earlier, after the beach, just the two of them, at a small family-owned restaurant, and somehow her terrorist-Don Juan had had flowers waiting at the table before they even arrived. No man had ever been as thoughtful for Emily.

She washed her hands, and headed out, ignoring Ian's concerned look. Ian Doyle's concerned look was also his, 'tell me who I have to kill," look. Because of course, if she was upset, someone must have made her so, and for Ian Doyle that was reason enough to bullet or a blade through them. He blocked her path, and Emily sighed. "I need to get underwear."

He grinned. "Go commando tonight, did you, Love?"

She smirked. "No, I just got my period."

He immediately backed off, hands in the air. Ian Doyle, international terrorist, sadist and all around sociopath had kryptonite, and it was everything involving menstruation. He turned into a 12 year-old at just the mention of cramps.

She grabbed a clean pair of panties from her bag, and slid them on, feeling his eyes watching her as she maneuvered into them. When she turned back, he was frowning.

"What?" She asked.

"You were late, Lauren. Your cycle should be a week back at least."

Exactly what did it say about her life when a man like Ian Doyle knew her menstrual cycle? She settled for a simple response. "I know."

"You didn't tell me." Hurt or angry, she couldn't tell which.

"You want news bulletins now when I don't bleed?" She made to turn, but he grabbed her wrist. Hard.

"You know what I'm talking about."

She let herself go limp, and his grip loosened, it was tight, but no longer painful. "If I had thought I was pregnant, I would have told you. It was only a few days, Ian."

"More than a few," he corrected.

She nodded, conceding that. He relaxed then, and pulled her close, holding her body flush against his, lips trailing over her head. He wanted children, not her. They'd discussed the matter, and her words about being unable to raise Declan the way he wanted had pretty much sealed that conversation, but he still wanted children. And she still couldn't give him what he wanted.

Emily relaxed in his embrace, letting the familiar feeling of his body comfort her, the sounds of his breathing soothe her. After several minutes they separated, and changed out of their dinner clothing. She pulled on one of his t-shirts, though he didn't keep many, and climbed into bed. Ian shut the light off, and crawled in beside her, spooning her body, his bare chest at her back, his arms wrapped around her.

It was comfortable. It was comforting.

This must be Hell.

Hours later, Emily awoke with killer cramps. Ian had rolled over the other way at some point, so she was free to get up. She meandered down the hall, found some ibuprofen and water in the kitchen, and then headed back up the stairs. She didn't turn toward the master suite though, instead she headed toward Declan's room.

He was sound asleep, curled on his side, blankets pulled up to his chin. For once, Emily was glad Ian forbid his son from sleeping with stuff animals. The bear she gave him, a musical bear that when cranked played a soft, little melody. A melody that could sooth a young child, but one that had made Ian raise his eyebrows and shoot her an unhappy look.

It had been important that the bear was musical. She reached into the Velcro-shut pocket in its back, fingers brushing the music box and pushing it out of the way. Beside the music box was another hard device, and this one she pulled free.

It was a small cell phone, one that she'd never used or even seen before now. Her team had stashed it the toy, and she'd bought it off some SIS agent in a market in Italy. She flipped it open, and turned the power on. The phone stayed off and hidden unless she needed it. And tonight, she needed it.

It booted up, looking like any other generic cell phone on the market. Emily keyed in Clyde's number from memory, and crept out onto Declan's balcony. It rang twice before he picked up.

"Yes?" Plain, generic greeting, just in case someone found it who shouldn't.

"This has to end soon."

"Emily, thank god," he said with a sigh. "What's wrong?"

"I need you to get me out, as soon as possible."

"We're getting close. Why, what's going on? Have you been made?" His voice was beginning to get high, his speech faster.

"No. I just…I need you to get me out quickly. Please," she stressed.

"I'll work on it, but first you have to tell me what's going on. Are you in danger?"

"No." She swallowed, and breathed through her nose. "I'm too close. I'm way too close."

She was met with silence, and then he inhaled. His tone shifted to all business. "When are you back in Tuscany?"

"In a few days, Saturday probably."

"We'll have you out by next Wednesday, earlier if I can manage it. Can you hang in until then?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be okay until then." She shut the phone, turned it off, and crept back into Declan's room.

Emily picked up the bear, and stowed the phone again in the pocket in it's back. Then she rested the creature on his bookcase. Ian never stayed in hotels. He owned several homes, and often he rented. Declan had his own room in each, usually close to Louise.

His blond hair was a tousled mess, and his face so peaceful in sleep. Not for the first time, she wondered about his mother. Where she was, or if maybe she was dead. She couldn't imagine a single other reason a woman would abandon her child to the care of Ian Doyle. The woman who gave birth to this little boy had to know that Ian would turn her child into a monster like himself. And Emily wondered, how a woman could cradle baby Declan in her arms, his eyes already so blue, and then walk away from him.

She couldn't walk away from the child now.

Emily reached a hand out, gently stroking his head and cheek. He stirred under her touch, and she bit her lip and drew her hand quickly back. His head moved, eyelids blinking as he focused on her.

"Lauren?"

"Yes, sweetie. I was just checking on you," she said. He nodded his head, and rested back against the pillow, his eyes already sliding shut.

Emily barely moved an inch when his slow, sleepy voice stopped her. "Lauren?"

"Yes, Declan?"

"I love you." With that he fell asleep, and she was stuck trying to blink away the tears that had suddenly formed in her eyes.

She pressed a kiss to the head of the little boy who would never be hers, and whispered, "I love you too."

This must be Hell.