6a/n: This was inspired by an offhanded line of Clyde's from 6x17 where he chides Emily over the phone for her tendency to run away. Oneshot/drabble. Emily/Clyde. Emily/Doyle (kinda). Angst. Rated T for adult themes.
Hope everyone had a happy new year!
He'd gotten her out like she'd begged him to. She completed her mission largely unscathed; she had sexed and corralled and lied and cheated her way into Ian Doyle's insidious network, his bed, and arguably his heart. She reported the gathered intelligence to JTF-12 and then she needed out.
Lauren Reynolds died in a car accident.
That was what they said.
Then Clyde wanted her to, "Come away with me, darling," to his sprawling vacation home in Kastelorizo, Greece, hugging the coast of Turkey, and she said yes.
He'd gotten her out and then he whisked her away.
The quiet island should have been an easy, quite reprieve from the crushing weight of her job, and a celebration of sorts, but Emily was suffocating.
She saw Lauren in every glass surface.
French phrases slipped far too easily from her mouth.
She felt Doyle's lips nipping at her collarbone when really, it was Clyde moving gently above her.
She needed out again.
On their fourth day in Greece, she slipped out under the cover of night and boarded a commercial flight to Washington, DC.
She left without so much as a word to Clyde.
She joined the Behavioral Analysis Unit and slowly the nightmares of Doyle and Tuscany, and even the slightly worthy memories of Clyde and Interpol, faded.
Clyde tried desperately to contact her for the first year, but Emily was a spy by trade, and she easily and elusively avoided it all.
For the first time in a decade, she was content.
But when Doyle arrived in DC seven years later driven by a roaring vendetta, she panicked.
She panicked and called Clyde and during their first contact in years, he chewed her out for running away all those years ago.
"I had to follow Declan," she hissed, hoping the excuse would carry weight.
It didn't.
Then for the second time, Ian Doyle charted the course of her life, and Emily found herself living a crushing lie.
This time it was in Paris.
She shocked the hell out of her team when she returned to DC to aid in the search for Declan, and Doyle's death allowed her to return to the BAU permanently.
She knew within a day of hunting serial killers that DC would never quite feel like home again.
It felt like...trying to squeeze a square peg into a round hole.
As JJ and Will exchanged vows, Emily prepared to run again.
She'd accept Easter's offer and hope like hell it did the trick.
"This time, I'm glad you ran," Clyde chuckled against her breast. "Interpol is lucky to have you. I'm lucky to have you."
She said nothing.
She couldn't tell him that although their bodies used to fit together like gently worn puzzle pieces, they didn't now.
Outside, London skies dumped torrential rain along the city streets, and Emily realized with overwhelming despair that she'd run again.
She'd always be running.
a/n: Thanks for reading, guys.
On another note, I just watched the documentary That Gal... Who Was in That Thing: That Guy 2 on Showtime with Paget today. It increased my love for her tenfold. She's just so endearing, funny, and candid (among many other things!), and I really recommend the documentary if anyone has an extra hour on their hands. :) That gal is lovely.